Voyage de Recherché d’un Domicile

Sizenov Alexander - Voyage de Recherché d’un Domicile The hotel bathroom was a chilling scene. The cold tiles, as insensitive as the icy demeanor he once wore, served as a stage for the grotesque theater of someone’s defeat. The hands that were once masterfully manipulated to satisfy the demands of life have now turned into bloody spectacles, as the shards of broken glass have brought merciless criticism into their dialogue. Their once elastic surface was now torn apart, an eerie parody of the well-trodden roads that he had once walked without fear, now manifested itself in physical evidence of the unintended journey that his life had become. A broken mirror lay prostrate at his feet, a former confidant who had become a traitor in his revelation. Each shattered shard responded with a dull ringing, sickeningly rhythmic serenade, contrasting with the stuffy atmosphere of the room. This terrible chorus was a reminder of naivety, an egocentric mirror in which his reflection once was now the executioner of his vanity. His eyes, or rather their grotesque absence, were pits that swallowed up the chillingly gloomy interior of the bathroom. Pools of inky darkness, devoid of emotional light on his sweaty features, bursts of nihilism, emphasizing his miserable existence. All that was reflected from the glittering shards of glass were double voids, mocking mirrors of his own existential crisis. His memory was a cruel curator, playing out a creepy slide show on the darkened canvas of his blinded vision. Flickering images of what once was flashed through the ruinous montage - beloved faces turned into ghostly visions, lost minor battles and significant victories, fleeting feelings that came and went. They were all dancing, distorted but magnificent, in the dark theater of his mind. The dilapidated faucet in the corner contributed to the painful symphony of the room, the rhythmic tapping of the drops smoothly intertwined with his heavy, intermittent breathing. This unnerving orchestra has composed a symphony of despair, a tangible mockery of the destroyed remnants of his rudimentary soul. He reached out, touched the cold, tiled wall of his private nightmare chamber, the once defiant warrior was now an unwitting prisoner on the brutal battlefield of despair. Every stained groove in the ceramic fairy tale was a testament to his fragmented fate, every grim reminder of his personal impasse. He was their creator, their tormentor. His story of adversity could only have been written by himself, because even in such terrible conditions he found a tool to capture his rebellion - a statement forged from a painful ordeal. Hardened before the inexorable reality, a man unwittingly exposed to danger is undeniably lonely, but strikingly determined. Can no longer see and remember the surrounding images. ©ТЕМПО — Sizenov Alexander