The pitch black night was the first thing he could remember. His grandad had always started with this silly detail. As a child he didn’t understand, but today he highly values the detail. A pitch black night is something else, has something else, has this mystical thing. We all know such nights. Dark nights in which you can hardly see anything. It was supposed to be such a night, we can’t prove it today. We have to believe the story, like he believed his grandfather. They had come far that night. Further than expected. Traveling my foot was and will forever be a struggle. Carrying a bit of food and stuff next to your body weight is one thing, but carrying everything else you own is something else. It makes you feel small and unimportant while it increases the importance of your luggage at the same time. It was just one of those nights. They were used to the struggle, to the exhaustion, to the unfamiliarity with the area, basically, they were used to everything. The only thing they were not used to was this barrier. His grandfather would have explained it with more drama. He would have put in some light fog, some spotlights, soldiers, you know how such a place looks like. But it wasn’t anything of that sort of a situation. It wasn’t a man build barrier. It was a river. Not just any river, it was a bigger one. One through which you could hardly swim. Especially not in such a pitch black night.

See you next time!

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