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The room is cold. And small. And cold. And dark. And cold. And empty. Did I
mention cold? Well, it is really cold. There is a small stain in the wall that raises in front of
me. It is a dark, almost invisible stain. I named her Vera, because I thought she looked like a
V, and she has been my best friend for the last day. Wait, was it a week? A month? I can´t
remember. Not that it matters.

Vera can laugh. Randomly, sometimes continuously, sometimes once in a long time.
Well, Vera laughs. And I am happy for her. I wonder why she is laughing. She should tell
me, so we can laugh together. Here it is again, Vera is laughing. It is always the same. Vera,
her laughter and the echo. To be honest, today´s echo is louder, stronger. As if there were
many Veras laughing.

The door creaks open. A boy enters the room. The boy is a child. The boy is pale. And
I know, the boy is starving. Vera and her echoes are louder. Maybe, after all, there are more
Veras. From both sides, the Veras fall silent. The boy sighs. A white, small cloud leaves his
lips. I do not smile. I still can hear a tiny laugh.

Why is Vera-from-somewhere still laughing?
Vera´s laugh is interrupted by a scream. A terrified scream. A scream where someone
poured their very life. I can still hear Vera´s laugh. The boy looks at me. “Another one
dying”. I look at the boy.

The boy is no longer a child. The boy is a grown man. The boy has
a beard. The boy looks familiar. The boy was in the newspaper. The boy's name is assassin, I
had read it. I can´t remember his last name.

I laugh, as I notice, Vera has never laughed louder. I laugh, because the room is no
longer gray, nor cold. It is now red, and hot. Or maybe painful. Who knows? Ah! I just
remembered his last name.
It was cannibal.


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