Spring Morning
He woke up with a smile on his face. Spring was upon them; nature’s optimism took over his melancholic mood and transformed it into a joyous, smiling morning, though the air was still crisp when he got ready, and, covered in a heavy winter overcoat, he dared go out after many days of isolation within the four walls of his room. Indeed, it was a crisp morning with many people in the park, and he walked toward them, when absentmindedly his glance fell on the lone man pushing his cart over the uneven cobblestones, rough roads, rough life meant to be repeated endlessly and with the same roughness. Then his glance fell on the old woman limping toward the neighbourhood bakery, another image meant to be repeated innumerable times. His glance then turned to a group of men and women dressed in similar outfits, obviously belonging to a club. Then his tyrannical thoughts came to him: these men and women will return and repeat the same lifestyle innumerable times, a thought that brought panic into his being; a myriad negative images flooded his mind. Having spent only a few minutes outside, he felt the urge to go back to his room and write all these new thoughts that cascaded inside of him. In his rush to run back home, he fell and, alas, injured himself. Unabated, though, in his quest to write, he limped back to his martyrdom, where he found his purpose once again: to write another page about humanity’s hero, Übermensch
Libros Libertad 