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closed.
This isn't death, because Katurian already knows what death feels like. Death is a soundless intermission, a pause between two sentences, a moment that stretches on forever but also somehow lasts no longer than a blink. Death is safety and loneliness. Death is and death isn't.
This isn't Kamenice, although it looks like it could be. He recognizes the wooden floors from his childhood bedroom, the soft etches from where he played with his model cars, the harsh scratches from where he dragged his typewriter from one end of the room to the other. There are things about this place that are not like Kamenice, though, like how these precious floors are not in his bedroom, but a bar, and how this bar is not filled with people he knows but absolutely no one at all. The wind blasts outside, rattling the shutters. At least, he thinks as he crosses the empty room, Kamenice has wind.
This isn't Panem, because Panem is a nightmare that was never really real, but he holds the remains of a black cape in his hands, the edges frayed from where the fabric had been sliced so precisely into a long rectangle that looks almost like a scarf.
This isn't Kamenice, although it looks like it could be. He recognizes the wooden floors from his childhood bedroom, the soft etches from where he played with his model cars, the harsh scratches from where he dragged his typewriter from one end of the room to the other. There are things about this place that are not like Kamenice, though, like how these precious floors are not in his bedroom, but a bar, and how this bar is not filled with people he knows but absolutely no one at all. The wind blasts outside, rattling the shutters. At least, he thinks as he crosses the empty room, Kamenice has wind.
This isn't Panem, because Panem is a nightmare that was never really real, but he holds the remains of a black cape in his hands, the edges frayed from where the fabric had been sliced so precisely into a long rectangle that looks almost like a scarf.
REAL COMMENT
He sits up, rolls over to his stomach and gets to his feet, moving quickly and jerkily as he tries to orient himself and figure out immediately if there's a threat. He's on a hard wood floor, behind what looks like a bar, by a liquor cabinet with glass bottles reflecting distorted images that make him look even skinnier.
He sits up.
He sits up.
He looks for his knife and finds it isn't in his pocket. He doesn't bother to check his other pockets because he knows it's not there. His feet push him into a standing position - not the other way around - and he peeks over the bar, which goes up to his forehead. He has to hoist himself up and rest on his elbows to do so.
He sees Katurian. "Did you take my knife?" he asks.