Forgotten

   When she looked at her face in the dirty mirror, she did not recognize her own self. She touched her face, clean it with the few drops of water that came out of the sink and just looked at her hideous face. Somehow, time had deformed it, changing from those times in which she had known proper food and a stable way of life. It hadn’t been like that for a very long time and she even doubted that all of the past she remembered had happened. Maybe she had invented all of it from TV, which now she loved to watch.

 The motel where she worked was the perfect place for her because there was no pressure in getting anything done. Her boss was a very fat man that couldn’t even go to the second floor of his own business, so she could spent all of the time she wanted up there and he would only yell at her once she came down, not having changed the sheets properly or without cleaning all the bathrooms of the very old building.

 She had chosen her name to be Carrie. One night, she had seen that very scary movie in her room and had loved it so much she had decided to be named like that. Her boss agreed to call her that as it was better than calling her “girl” all the time. She was thankful he was only a very stubborn man, as maybe her luck would have been pretty different if she had fallen into the hands of someone else. After all, Carrie was not her name as she did not remembered anything from her past accurately, only parts and feelings, like the ones that indicated her she had changed physically.

 Carrie had been working there for more than two years, and she was much more experienced now that she had been in the past, so just imagine how bad she was when she first started scrubbing floors and fixing small problems that people had in their rooms. Not that many people came to this part of the world. The world was normally empty, only some cars that wanted to take a more scenic rout would end up in the motel. The rest took the highway, which was better and much faster. But Mr. Ray, the fat man, never even thought of changing the location of his motel.

 Apparently, it had been a family estate. So when Mr. Ray’s parents died, the motel became instantly his and he had been managing it from the age of twenty. Carrie secretly admired him because the place could be much worse bur Mr. Ray kept it afloat; although how he did it was shrouded in mystery. Not many people came in and he only had two people to attend to the twenty rooms he had available. Carrie was in charge of all the chambermaid duties, Mr. Ray himself was the repairman (even if he did not know what he was doing most of the time) and there was also and old man called Timmy, who was the one protecting everyone and everything within the premises of the motel.

 So most days Carrie would only clean half of the rooms, as the other ones were rarely used, and she mused about what her life had been before. Mr. Ray had convinced her that looking for her past could not en up well for her and at first she thought that he only wanted to keep her there, almost like a slave, but that wasn’t the case. He let her go to the nearest town, where she told the police of her situation. At first, no one believed her. And when one young guy decided to listen to her, he couldn’t anything about a missing woman fitting her description. She asked him to check again and he even let her try but there was nothing in there.

 When she finally gave up, the people of the police were kind enough to give her a new identity, so Mr. Ray was able to actually pay her and keep her healthy in his motel. With Timmy, they worked as a strange family but every time things were going too good in the motel, she was reminded of that past she had no idea about and started crying: what if she had been married? What if her parents were alive and missing her? What if she had been a mother? That was enough to make her cry all night and not making her able to sleep.

 One day, a young couple arrived at the motel. They wore really strange clothes and barely talked. As there was no one else in the building, Carrie tried to be very nice in order to get to know them better. She even made coffee for them and gave them some cookies she kept for herself. The strangers accepted the gifts, but she wasn’t really able to speak to them or looking at what they had in their suitcases. They would only open the door enough to have a short talk and that was it.

 Every day, Carrie attempted to talk to them and to do her job, cleaning the room. But she was never able to do any of that because they wouldn’t come out of the bedroom for anything. She knocked on the door, asking them if they wanted new bed sheets, water, coffee, their bathroom cleaned, candles… But the answer was always no. Only at night she would see the man walking out and driving off to town, then coming back with what appeared to be food.

 Those times the woman was alone, she tied to talk to her but Carrie realized it was her who was the crazier or weirder one. She wouldn’t even open the door to say the few words that came out of her mouth and Carrie knew she didn’t even stand by the door to say these things. It was very annoying after a while and they ended up staying in the motel for almost a month. Even Mr. Ray tried to talk to them once, but they only answered by paying a whole week in advance, so he didn’t insisted on asking them who they were and why they were barricaded in his motel.

 The man, however, was nicer. Carrie had been taken out the trash one night and she saw him arrive from one of his trips to town. He carried two bags with him and when she saw some liquid soap fell out of one of the bags, she just helped him and had a short conversation. He smiled a lot and it did not seem fake, it seemed like he really wanted to be nice but just couldn’t be fully nice in that moment. Carrie talked to him many times at night and she would only get some words but enough to know his voice and that the couple living there were loaded.

 Since they had arrived, they had spent a lot of money in food and probably other supplies. Besides, they would pay every week in anticipation and the car seemed to always have a full tank of gas. After the first two weeks, Carrie concluded that those two were running away from or with something, She even imagined they had killed people and the police should really know what was happening. But she was scared and decided to consult Mr. Ray before doing anything. He agreed and she called the young officer that had helped her search for her past.

 They decided it was best if they did it in the morning, as the couple would always make sounds later in the day, avoiding to be seen before midday. So the young officer arrived at the motel at nine o’clock and knocked on their door, announcing the presence of the police. At first, there was no noise, but as he kept knocking the door, there was a sudden strange sound. The officer understood the noise as something he had to respond to, so he kicked down the door (to Mr. Ray’s dismay) and shot one of the people inside and pointed at the other with the gun.

 Carrie came closer and saw the woman bleeding on the ground and the man terrified, fully dressed, by the window. They didn’t seem to have been sleeping; the bed sheets were in the exact same place Carrie had left them several days ago. None of them talked and when the officer attempted to call reinforcements with his radio, the man moved, causing the young man to be scared, shooting him several times. Carrie screamed and fainted.

 When she came to her senses, she was in the hospital. She had been taken there and Mr. Ray was in the next bed. Apparently the entire situation had been too much for him and he had a heart attack on the spot. Carrie did not feel bad, so she attempted to walk out the room but a police officer stopped her. It was a woman and she made her go back to bed. Carrie asked what had happened with the couple and the officer just told her that they had found them to be some kind of stalkers but that she shouldn’t worry too much about it, as she would get her answers pretty soon. So she waited, trying to sleep but unsuccessfully.

 The next day, she learned the young officer that had come to their aid was now facing jail, as there was no real proof the couple, which were dead, were any kind of criminals. However, they did found that they never slept in the days they were there, instead writing pages after pages about Carrie. They had taken pictures of her every day and, the strangest thing was that they had pictures that seemed to be her from a very young age. When looking one of the pictures, she cried because she couldn’t see herself in there. She was lost once again.

Payback

   Jean was on highway six and she was doing great time. The road went through the mountains, using tunnels and bridges, to a place with a much nicer climate and where she could finally relax from an exhausting week. Work as a nurse could be very heavy and opportunities to have a few days for herself were pretty scarce. So she decided to grab the car and ask her parents for the keys of the summerhouse they had on that region.

 She had not been there for several years, since she had started her career, and her parents were not big fans of going to a house were the weather was warm but there was no ocean or anything to look forward to. There was a pool though and Jean knew she would have to clean it thoroughly before making use of it. Her parents now owned an apartment by the ocean, so this house had been deserted for quite some time. The plan had always been to sell but no one really seemed interested.

 Driving was making her back hurt a bit, so she decided to turn up the radio and sing along, in order to male a distraction from her pain. She would sing clumsily after the lyrics were sung but it worked as it made her laugh and enjoy the trip. On every curve, she would stop singing, instead humming the lyrics and looking at the dark road. It was the end of the afternoon and she had been driving for about an hour. She was only about thirty minutes away from her exit went the unthinkable happened: another car rammed her.

 The hit from the back make her bob like one of those taxi dolls but her arms kept straight and the car didn’t move so much. She tried to look who had done it. For a second, she thought that maybe someone was having problems and it had just been and accident. But some minutes later it happened again and in a curve. Jean’s heart felt right in her mouth and she decided it was best to speed up in order to loose that insane driver.

 She gained velocity quickly and in a couple of minutes she had lost the car, a red car that seemed to old to be still in circulation. Jean noticed the exit was nearby and was trying not to miss it when a police car appeared out of nowhere and she was asked to park further ahead. She stopped the car on a restaurant just off her exit. Stepping out of the car, she fixed her hair and waited for the police officer to come and talk to her.

 With that air of superiority many policemen have, he told her she had gone above the limit some kilometers ago and that she had violated the top speed she could be driving on the highway. Jean answered that it was all fine but that they should also give a ticket to the owner of the red car that rammed her twice. She went to the back of her car and showed him the marks of both attacks. The man checked it closely, then grabbed his radio and alerted other patrols to be on the lookout for the red car.

 After he had given the ticket to Jean, she was able to go. Her parent’s house was just fifteen minutes down the road on a small plateau between two mountains. The place in itself was very nice but it was obvious people always wanted more and better things so they were all selling these all old houses in favor of newer, more modern ones in places not very far from there.

 Jean stopped the car on the entrance and used the keys to release the lock on the main entrance. She opened the door manually (it wasn’t a electric one) and then drove the car into the lot. She stopped the car just by the pool, closed the door and then took out the only suitcase she had brought along.

The place was very dark and moist, the humidity was incredible. She turned on the lights and was amazed at how much work she had to do that night. She only had three full days for herself there and she was to clean to leave everything as it was. So after leaving her suitcase in her parent’s old bedroom, she decided to grab all the cleaning products available and start scrubbing the floor, mopping them, dust the furniture, vacuum and a number of other thing she would have forgotten to do if she hadn’t been a nurse.

 She had gotten there around seven and now it was almost eleven and her stomach asked her for food. In the house there was nothing to eat, as they had always disconnected the refrigerator before leaving, in order not to let any electric appliances on the long periods of time they were not there. She had forgotten all about eating when she had grabbed the car, so she went outside and decided to head down the road, where she remembered some stores were located.

 They were small family-owned stores, the kind that sells things kids would like on a road trip. No meat or anything raw. No lunches or any form of cooked meals or even microwave meals. Thankfully it was open and the lady that tended to it remembered her. They had a nice conversation as Jean grabbed some yogurts, orange juice, milk, cereal, bread, ham and butter. She also grabbed some candy and a big bottle of soda. The lady asked her if she wanted help to carry all that to her house but Jean refused and told her she could manage.

 After dropping the soda bottle five times, she finally arrived to her house and ate a pathetic sandwich before feeling to tired to go on. She feel asleep in no time.

 The following day, she put on her swimsuit and ran to the pull, only to realize she hadn’t cleaned that. Someone, according to her parents, took care of it when they were not around but still there were many leaves. She grabbed that long pole they use to catch leaves and she started doing so, sweating like crazy, feeling more and more humid by the minute. As she was halfway through the job, she heard a car coming. She wasn’t expecting anyone so she didn’t looked up to see that it was the red car coming slowly down the road. It stopped a few meters away, far from her sight.

 Jean finally looked at the pool: it was clean enough and she just wanted to swim. So she did, for several hours. After that, she decided to lay down in a plastic deck chair and just dry away the water of the pool. It was right then when the two men driving in the red car entered the house and she didn’t heard a thing. They hid behind lush plants and behind her car. She had closed her eyes, tired again from all the exercise. One of the men was holding a knife, the other a gun. This last one raised his hand.

 A shot was heard all over the road and many neighbors looked up and down the street for the source. But they could only see a red car parked there.

 And also, a patrol car.

 The policeman, not the same one that had stopped Jean on the road, had shot first, wounding the one that was holding a gun on the side. He fell to the ground by the pool and his pain had made him drop the gun into the water. The other one was still holding the knife and was pretty agile, grabbing Jean by the neck and trying to suffocate her with his skinny arm.

 She fought back but he was stronger and much more crazy. The policeman was pointing at him but the knife was already too close to the skin and Jean decided to do the only thing she could thing of doing: she bit the arm of her attacker, that got distracted for a second. The policeman got the message and shot two times, both to the chest.

 In a matter of minutes, neighbors had called the police and ambulances. Both men were alive, one on much worse condition that the other. Paramedics also attended Jean, as she was coughing too much and she had a deep cut on her neck.

 She went back home that day, on the ambulance. She would ask someone to go down there and grab her car for her. She only wanted to be home. Jean thought of the men every second of the short trip, their faces mad with anger, the weapons and the feeling when she had heard the gunshot and then the man grabbed her. She felt so helpless and useless. They cured her wounds in a hospital and then released her, late at night.

 Once home, she sat on her bed stroking her neck wound and remembering where she had seen those men before. They were family members of a woman that had recently died in her care. Her husband had attacked her and those men were her sons. Jean remembered they wanted her cured instantly, like by magic and they pressured the doctor not to mention their father in the report. But he did. And Jean was too slow the day the woman went into cardiac arrest and died. She had not believed their word, as the woman had been fine just hours before.

 Jean couldn’t fall asleep anymore. And traveling to relax was definitively out of the question.

Trapped in the flow

   For the first time ever, I was in the presence of snow. It was like in those movies where everything is covered in white and the characters make snowmen and throw balls of ice to each other, but it was pretty nice nevertheless. The snow just began to fall as we had stopped on a gas station and I walked out of the car just to feel it by myself. I was the only one there interested in the phenomenon but I didn’t care, the experience was even more unique like that. It felt so nice at first and so soft and simple. It was like magic was real but it was also very basic and not complicated like one would imagine. It was just this: snowflakes slowly falling to the ground and on my skin and hair. I felt alone and unique somehow but then I was reminded I was escaping and I had to go back to the car.

 Our journey went on exactly as it had been going on before the stop. Although the magic was ongoing because I could still see the snow falling on the other side of my window. But somehow, it felt very far away now and even more considering the circumstances. The driver was a woman I didn’t even knew the name of but she said she was doing all of this to save both our asses. I believed her because I had no other choice but the truth was I didn’t trust anyone anymore. Doing so had been my downfall and now I was in a car with a strange woman who never smiled, being chases by the police and other security agencies just because I never opened my mouth to say anything, I never fought back.

 I guess I have never been the kind to fight back, to be on the offensive side of things. I have always been more into letting things happen and just adapt to that. To be honest, I consider myself one of those persons that don’t need to go around the world doing things to prove who I am or what I’m worth. I don’t really need to test myself because I just now what I’m capable of. My life is one to be lived in peace, without breaking to much controversy in my path. Or that’s what I had always thought. Now, I really only want to be looking at the snowflakes and enjoy the beautiful spectacle that it is to see nature unfold itself in front of my very eyes. But soon, snow stops and rain ensues, ruining the landscape with its violence.

 I hate rain and now I have nothing to look for. I just realize I don’t want to be there, I don’t want to be running forever like a criminal because I’m not that. I’m just a stupid idiot that made a mistake and didn’t have the courage to talk when he had to. I bet she doesn’t know that I’m not an evil mastermind as many have thought, I’m just an average and maybe even below average guy who just wants to be left alone for the rest of his days. But I’m not stupid; I know that now that’s impossible. There’s no way everything’s going to stop just because I say the truth. My truth is simply not interesting enough for people to listen to me and I know they will just not care about it at all.

   It was all about lies and more lies and I now that I’m not completely innocent because, after knowing what had happened, I didn’t say or do anything. My so-called friends, those people I had learned to love and respect, they had set me up several times by making me keep their secrets, whether they came in the form of drugs or in the form of money. To be fair, they just gave me bags that were black and covered in duct tape so I never really knew what I was taking care of but those people were the only thing I had in life. I couldn’t doubt them, I just couldn’t begin to dare to betray the confidence they had put in me. So for years, many years, I kept those bags of whatever it was.

 I discovered once one of those bags had money and I asked my best friend what that was about. He told me he had earned a lot of money and would rather split it and keep it safe with friends that in a bank. To be honest, I didn’t believe him; I just decided that having friends and a certain sense of family was better for me that meddling in some business I had no idea about. After all, it was them who paid my rent, my clothes and food and who had given me the chance to be someone by working in a factory. They made plastic objects, of many natures, but I wasn’t to bad at it and I earned my living so they didn’t have to help me so much. I loved my life back then and wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

  My parents had died many years ago, leaving me an orphan. They didn’t have any money so I was about to turn into one of the many children that roam the streets at night, when I met them and they just accepted me into their bigger family. To be honest, I don’t remember my parents. I have no idea what kind of people they were or even how they looked like. I guess I could find out maybe now wasn’t the best moment to do so. It had never been one of my priorities in life to know who they were because I had always felt my family was the guys and girls and hung out with, those who gave me money to survive and live a life that was just good enough for me. Even now, I know I owe them a lot for what they did because they had no obligations with me.

 But I grew up and realized that what my family was doing was not really ok. Also because I saw the people that bought their product, on the streets, and thought that selling such a poison was not what a good person would do. I asked one of them once if they would change their work in the future. He said he wouldn’t because drugs not only have him money, they also gave him status and respect from other people. I told him about what I had seen and he just said that weak people shouldn’t be doing what’s meant to be for the strong and the mighty. So it was all a question of power that I couldn’t quite put to words.

 That wasn’t necessary. I discovered the hard way that this family had never really been mine or anyone else’s.  The day one of their bags filled with cocaine arrived at the police department, they instantly went for me. They sent a thug, a guy I had know and loved as brother, to punch the truth out of my body. I was beaten heavily, barely surviving the whole thing. Even now, my ribs hurt as if his enormous feet were pounding my thorax again. I bled a lot, covering the flour with the unmistakable odor of iron. I told him, when he let me, that it hadn’t been me. He just left me there, to clean myself and to take care of my wounds alone, because my family had officially left me for good.

More bags arrived to the police department, some filled with money and others with drugs. This time, I got a letter saying that someone was sorry it had to be blamed on me but that it was the only way to do it. So before I was killed, I surrendered myself to the police. It was stupid from me to do it, as I hadn’t done anything, but my mind couldn’t decide of anything less dangerous. The police didn’t believe me either, only thinking I was looking to save my ass from something they didn’t know about. They protected me for a while but I knew I wasn’t safe and I knew the police wouldn’t risk it all just to have me alive. So, once again, I escaped but this time with the woman that was driving the car after I had seen snow for the very first time.

 She didn’t talk at all and it was better that way. We just knew we had to run away and we did. I didn’t wanted to know why she had been arrested or she was guilty or not. Not even if she was a serial killer. I knew that the trip would end eventually and that I would have to fend for my own, which I was looking forward. I needed to prove myself that I could defend my own body and my own existence. So I just waited until the moment came and it did, faster than I thought. Because when we stopped again in a motel, and now more snow was falling, I went to get something to drink and eat and she stayed behind. She was arrested by a state security agency that was looking for her for a long time. I saw them take her and just leave, without even stopping to look for me. 

 I didn’t know what that was for but I thanked it. I left our car there and just realized I had no money. So what I did was simple: first of all, I ate what I had bought. There was no reason to go hungry now. After that, I waited patiently until the night arrived and then I went to a bar that was just a few steps away from the motel. It was greasy and old and depressing but it made me shine. So I took advantage of that and, eventually, I found what I was looking for. A mind that was weaker than mine, someone that would pay attention to me and to no one else. Someone that would want me and not the rest. For the first time, I was going to be my own person.

 The next day, I put on my clothes, went out the bedroom and bought a seat on a bus that would take me far away; so far it would turn me completely into another person. And I would like that.

He was just here

   Raymond felt he sand between his toes and just kept on walking, not even realizing he was walking towards the ocean. To him, it didn’t matter anymore. His life was stuck on a loop and he had lived what he needed to live. He felt there was nothing more he could do or that he could get out of life on Earth. He had decided to think things by taking a walk and, unknowingly, his subconscious had already decided that it was time to end it all. The water reached his pants fast, and then his underwear. Then his belt, his shirt and finally his glasses. The current and the sheer strength of the ocean did the rest, taking his body from that cold, windy beach to the bottom of the ocean, from where no one would be able to take it for some time.

 He wasn’t someone people would miss and, although the ocean released the body, the police didn’t identify him for several months, as no one would ask for him. When they finally did identify the body as Raymond Bloom, it happened just because of a casual matter and not because someone was looking for him. The truth was he had no wife, no children, no parents and no friends. According to the information an officer was able to gather, he had lived alone for at least twenty years in a small attic on a very old building. The place smelled awful, as no one even knew the owner was dead. The officer found there some leads on who the man was and, maybe, on why he had done what he had done.

 Officer Jenny Marshall was one of those people who believe the best of every single person. It was strange for a cop to have such an attitude towards life but there she was, trying to cheer people up and making the best of her day every single day. She had been transferred recently and it was only the second post she had held ever so she wasn’t really assigned to the streets or to some interesting investigations. Jenny normally did the paperwork for every case and was in charge of keeping the archives in order, something she took very seriously. Deep down, she knew that her male counterparts loved to see her tie down to a job that didn’t lead anywhere but she ignored that fact and just did her work.

 Investigating the death of Raymond was assigned to her because she requested it. She told her boss she wanted to change her work a little and such a case would be perfect for her. After all, it seemed pretty straightforward and she could even do all the paperwork herself. So she convinced her boss and there she was on Raymond’s apartment, pinching her nose to avoid the foul smell of rotten food and trying to uncover the reason why he had committed suicide. To Penny, personally, it was not clear how a person could do such a thing. For her, life was sacred and no one had the right to take their own, even if they felt helpless and desperate. She knew there were always better options.

 She went through Raymond’s things and discovered that he had been published. The books did not look very nice on the outside but then she decided to sit down on the bed and just read one of the many stories the man had written in them. One was particularly moving; dealing with a ghost that saw how his childhood home was tore down to build an apartment building. She found very interesting but very sad too. She kept on looking for clues on Raymond’s house but she realize the only thing worth looking in there was his books so she put them all in boxes and took them to the station. She would try to find something in them and get to the bottom of the case, that way making everyone realize she could be a great agent and even a decent detective.

 Jenny started ready every single one of Raymond’s stories at work. No one really said anything to her because she wasn’t annoying anyone and she was doing her main job, which was taking care of the all the data. As she did that and on her free time, she would only read and read everything. Months passed until she had read every single piece of writing in Raymond’s apartment.  It was winter now and the last words she read from him where strangely appropriate for the climate: “I feel the cool breeze coming and telling me it’s time to go”. That was a short story about a man radically different from Raymond, with family and love all around him.

 The officer decided to let the case go for a while, so she went home and spent the holidays with her parents and her boyfriend and every other family member that had decided to come to the city for Christmas. She had a wonderful time eating and talking and dancing. She laughed a lot and wished for life only to be like that, full of joy and people whom you loved and who loved you. She realized Raymond’s writing had begun to depress her a bit but her family and all the love and special mood of the season brought back to her the best feelings and that nice warmth that only love can take to someone’s heart. And then, right in the Christmas dinner, she understood what had happened to Raymond.

 He had killed himself, not because he was weak or suffering in a too awful way. He died because he was alone; he had no one to take care of him or to even listen to what he had to say. And that was obvious just by reading what he wrote, as he said everything about anything he had ever thought about in life. It was amazing to read about so many things, but funny and serious, happy and sad, short and extremely long. His writing had been the way for him to externalize every single thing he had bottled up inside, as he ad never had anyone to properly talk and share his thoughts with. He had been trapped by his own life or, at least that’s what Jenny thought. Even if he was to blame, he had no choice.

 When the holidays ended, she wrote her report on the death of Raymond Bloom and decided to properly request her transference to the detective’s unit. She knew she could do more there and when her demand wasn’t accepted, she resigned the police. Jenny had learned from investigating Raymond that she needed to do with her life as she wanted, she couldn’t afford not living and not doing what her heart demanded of her. She didn’t want to end up like Raymond, all alone and talking to the books because there’s no one there. Unappreciated by the world and ignored to the point when, at her death, no one would ever think of grieving her. She wanted more from life and, eventually, she got it.

 Raymond’s books were donated to a public library and it was almost two years later when Jenny saw Ray’s name on the news. She was working with the FBI and now had a partner and was properly working the field. But during the investigation of a case, she saw the headline and bought the newspaper to find out what it was all about. Apparently, a book expert had been investigating the libraries of the cities looking for antiquities and particular books and so on. He had discovered Raymond, who had been an unknown author all his life, and declared he was one of the best storywriter he had ever found. He didn’t know that Ray was dead but he did know something else that Jenny didn’t: Ray hadn’t been as alone as she had thought.

 According to the article, the man had found several letters in the apartment Raymond had lived in, now turned into a posh flat. During the reforms on the place, they had found several letters and the expert had read them, discovering he had owned a dog for a long time and that he had died just about the time the author had stopped writing. Besides the dog, he had been in love with someone he described thoroughly in his letters, every physical aspect and some traits of characters. The letters, with such richness and passion, ended up being edited into a book that sold millions of copies, making the expert a rich man.

 Jenny was sad that Raymond had not been there to enjoy his fame and fortune. They eventually discovered he had committed suicide and that made his letters and all his books even more popular. Eventually, there was no one that didn’t know the name of the author and his tragic story. Jenny had thought, for a moment, that she had known the author but she realized she never did. She realized that no one had ever known him properly. He had been in love, that man who felt so alone and so sad. He had experienced life and life had not experienced him and Jenny felt that he finally understood why he had done what he had done. It was clear as water and she wouldn’t argue with it.

 Raymond became famous, as well as his views on life and his pain, which was painted all over his letters. But no one would ever know him as he was already gone and everyone had lost the chance to tell him “I’m here”.