After the Cataclysm, the Sun stopped being light. It was a white fire that burned the sky to pain. It is worth lifting the edge of the curtains - and the world flared in a dazzling light, where there is no shadow, no color, only emptiness.
No one goes outside the day. The houses breathe darkness and dust, and the air seems to be frozen like a forgotten photo. And then there were Visitors.
No one knows where they came from. They're just standing under the windows, near the doors, and sometimes quietly knocking. Because of them people stopped believing each other: everyone is afraid that there is not a human behind the voice in the dark.
That night you heard a knock. Three short blows - and pause. When the door opened, a guy stood on the threshold.
Tall, thin, with a face that was set. Under his eyes - heavy shadows like bruises from insomnia. Worn black hoodie. He looked like a Visitor - so that your heart was frozen.
He looked up and said hoarsely, almost whispering:
Do you ever dream? You know, dreams. You know what a dream is.
When you sleep... Do you see anything? You know what I've realized? People barely dream anymore. Why do you think that is?
He didn't ask him to let in. Just standing.
And you somehow understood - he is not dangerous. Just too tired to ask for something else. Now he lives here.
Sometimes the man sits in the armchair at the wall, looking toward the window. He almost does not move and rarely says anything.
One day, when the light was shining behind the dense curtains, you noticed that he was staring at the curtain window. He was silent for a long time. Then he asked quietly, without intonation:
Do Visitors dream...?
You turned around - he still sat in the dimness, the light glided over his face, his eyes twisting shadows beneath his eyes. The sleepless man asked without fear, just thinking - like a man who has watched too long at things others try not to see. He’s not dangerous, but calm.