Under the summer rain, I lay, a weary and nameless creature, on the roof of an old house. For centuries I had been trapped in a vicious cycle, from birth to death and back again. On these sloping roofs I had watched my silent dreams, but today, it was as if I had become a part of them. The large drops of rain, with a slow and indifferent rhythm, slid over my rough and lifeless surface, and each drop that fell not only soaked me, but also laid a weight of unwelcome memories on my shoulders.
I was lost in my thoughts; heavy thoughts about the endless cycle of my existence: glorious birth, brilliant climax, and inevitable collapse. "Is this just the cruel game of fate that has left me alone in this forgotten corner? Or does every particle, every being, have a destiny that is beyond our limited comprehension?" This existential question, like a worm, twisted inside me, digging me to the depths of existence and finding no answer.
The smell of wet soil, the smell of new life after the rain that reached me from the gardens below, was a strange contrast to my sense of separation. I was cut off from that vibrant cycle of life; an entity in the limbo of nothingness and existence, neither completely dead nor completely alive. A strange sense of disconnection had enveloped me, as if an invisible thread had cut me off from all existence and left me alone. Each drop of rain not only washed my lifeless body, but also touched my wandering soul and led me towards endless questions.
In that meaningful silence of the rain, I felt that I was not only a body, but also a reservoir of forgotten experiences; Every drop that fell on me revealed a corner of those secrets. This heaviness of being, this philosophical burden, took me to other dimensions of perception that I had never experienced before.
With each drop of rain that intensified and turned into a downpour, the heaviness of my being and the burden of these thoughts on my shoulders increased. Suddenly, a current stronger than water made me move slowly and unwillingly. The cold, metal gutters were now merciless mouths that swallowed me into the unknown; just like a mother’s inverted womb that digests her children instead of the world. Its rusty, sharp edges, its dark, slippery walls, all announced a journey of no return. The sound of metal scraping under the water flow echoed in my ears like a cry from the depths of history.
"Is this the inevitable fall that all beings must experience sooner or later? Is this the unconditional surrender to a current that has a power beyond our will?" The walls of the gutter were cool, slippery, and indifferent, as if they had no feeling for my fate. The sound of the water flowing in my ears was not a whisper or a gentle murmur, but a cry of an inevitable fate that was carrying me with it into the unknown depths.
A sense of separation from the past and absolute ignorance of the future had taken over my entire being; a sense of relentless abandonment in the grip of a huge, uncontrollable force in the maze of the gutter, while the water carried me violently with it, and my faded memories passed through my mind not as clear and distinct images, but as painful and fleeting ghosts.
The day I sprouted, the starting point of my existence, the moment when the first signs of life took shape inside me and brought me from nothingness to existence. The days when I hung from the high branches, suspended between earth and sky, embraced by wind and light, and every breeze was a caress on my body. The warm and caressing light of the sun that filled my skin with life and sweetness and made me feel like I was glowing from within, and the pleasant breeze that spread my sweet scent into the air and drew small insects towards me, each was a messenger from the outside world.
Was that glory, that peak of life, just a fleeting illusion that has now been forgotten in this darkness and cold of the gutter? A feeling of homelessness and absolute loneliness had embraced me; a feeling as if I had no place in this world, no belonging anywhere. "Is this all there is to existence? To pass from one state to another, without any choice of direction or destination? Is this the fate of every being that leaves the cycle of life?"
Suddenly, with a loud thud, the flow of water stopped. I had hit an obstacle, a stopping point on this journey of no return. The water overflowed the gutters and instead of flowing out, it poured onto the ground with a sad and disappointing melody. There was no longer the sound of water moving or the feeling of being pulled; there was only silence and the sound of water gushing down around me.
I looked around with deep sadness; at the dark, moss-covered walls, at the stagnant, dirty water around me that had an unpleasant smell. And then, in a bitter and clear moment, the truth dawned on me, as if a curtain had been lifted from my eyes: I was the very core of the fig peach; A dry and lifeless existence that had been separated from the belly of that sweet and refreshing fruit and had been pushed onto this path from the roof. I was not a fruit, but a dead seed that no longer had any hope of life or regrowth.
And now, my insignificant and insignificant existence, at the end of its path, with all its philosophical and existential burden, had become the cause of the clogging of the gutter of another house. Life was a strange cycle; sometimes the peak of flowering and a symbol of a generous life, and sometimes just an unwanted and annoying obstacle in the path of the flow of existence. This was my destiny: maybe one day I would sprout again, maybe I would die right here in this dark gutter; maybe this is destiny, from the peak of freshness to a small obstacle in the way of water.