The Infinite Nothing

VIII : how to die

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Ivan cursed under his breath as the plastic bag in his arms broke and its entire content spilled all over his clothes.

It was illegally hot, the sun's light mercilessly grilling Ivan and its heat radiating from the concrete he stood on. He imagined to feel it soaking through his shoes like hot cement, burning his sensitive skin and boiling his insides while all he could do was stand on the street, covered in trash.

Ivan hated summer with a burning passion, and today was no day to change that.

He managed to scramble up the loose piles of trash in his arms and carry them to the nearest dumpster. God, this was so humiliating. He prayed the old hag living next to them didn't decide to look out of her window at this very moment; he'd never hear the end of it.

Ivan sighed in relief as he released the trash and it filled the big dumpster with a mild crashing noise. His contentment vanished into thin air when he realized the bracelet on his right wrist wasn't on its usual place.

Glancing at the dumpster he contemplated just killing himself on the spot, exposed to summer's heat that was still tickling his feet with an unpleasant hot sensation. Maybe he could even blame it on the heat. How Ivan hated the heat.

When Tristan walked past the green dumpster wearing his usual dark suit and unimpressed expression, he imagined to hear a quiet curse that seemed too familiar to be ignored. Stopping in his tracks he glanced at the dumpster, wondering if this was the day he officially lost his sanity and could be declared insane; the greatest and most natural state of being.

"What is this, another Socrates gone mad?"

Ivan glared at Tristan through narrowed eyes. "Are you stalking me?"

"I was actually just walking home," Tristan replied, eyeing the trash Ivan was kneeling in with curious eyes. "Is this a statement? Are you declaring poverty as a personal virtue?"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "I don't even want to know what you're talking about. I lost my bracelet."

"What an unfortunate place to lose something in."

"I'll just forget it," Ivan stated, climbing out of the dumpster. "I'll never find it, anyway."

"You reek," Tristan noticed. "So, is this a normal Friday afternoon activity for people like you?"

The shorter boy sighed as he glanced down at his stained clothes. "Don't mock me, Tristan. I'm tired."

"Maybe you should take a nap."

"It wouldn't help." Ivan glanced up at the sky. "I'm tired of being lost. And my family. And thinking about the things you said last night. You know, maybe you're not a good influence."

Tristan tilted his head, his usual amused smile tugging at his lips. "Because I make you think? Right, I'm such a horrible person."

"Do you always walk through this neighbourhood?"

"I usually take longer routes home, but it's hot and this is the shortest way."

"Ah. Who were you referring to just now?" Ivan asked, glancing at the dumpster. "When I was in there."

Tristan smiled. "Diogenes of Sinope, a self-proclaimed 'citizen of the world'. He lived in wine barrels and such, praising a life of absolute poverty. Everyone hated him and he just didn't care."

"Wow. When did he live?"

Tristan shrugged. "Around 350 BC."

"Wow."