The room is small and square. There's not much furniture inside. There's a bed, a simple chair and a small table with a melted candle on top. The bed's sheets are all messy and one can see a few bloodstains on the chair. One will wonder what hapenned in here... It's a small room, a small home, a small haven with a single room built on a small street close to a harbor. When you stand at the door you can hear the sounds of the waves sometimes, when it is quiet outside -usually those hours after midnight-
On the roof, outside, a redheaded teen is sitting, casually laying there as if he spent a lifetime there. He waits for something... someone... or maybe both. He watches the people go by at the street bellow, none of them paying mind to the home, and of course not even turn an eye at him. They don't know him, why should they care? -Everybody's running, they are trying to catch up. Captch up with their lives that are slipping out of control from between their fingertips.-

On an appartment of the seventh floor of a block of flats, a man is sitting on the balkony. He looks away, at the setting sun in the horizon regretting the awful deeds he has commited. He realized a little too late, he found out a little too late, he was enlightenned... a little too late. It was too late to change what he had already done, deliver an order to the target and kill another man. For a sane killer such as himself this shouldn't be a strange or difficult deed to do, in fact it wasn't... Or it would not be... had he not loved this man. Killing him openned his eyes to the truth but it was already too late to apologize and say those three little words that cost so little but worth so much. Knowing this he drove himself to his death -maybe in a desperate attempt to atone for his sin-.

Footsteps form a decisive line walking on the muddy flagstone. 'tap-tap-tap' one can hear the heels against the hard tiles, this time they do not stop at all. There's no second thoughts to be made.
"You came." "I did."

Two figures sitting side by side on the roof. The one turned to the other, said something. Words that the wind took but didn't steal them, just made them one with itself -making them soft, lightweight, pure-. A head laying on a shoulder. Night has come, stars twinkling on the deep velvet blue.

Goodnight... Goodnight.
Goodnight...