He had finally reached the end point: Where everything he said, wrote or broke would vanish unnoticed, because there was nobody left to care about it anymore. Freedom he was granted, but the peace of mind was traded for dead calm. Once deprived of the recognition as a human being, he was free to sever the last bindings to civilisation: Erostratus clouds cover hanging over the city, Paul Hilbert for just one day, spinning drums and bullet’s nothingness.

He was aware about what was happening to him, but he had not the power to stop it.

The white room. People staring at me, a blank stare, blanket of stars around my neck. Wide stairs, black room. I was asked to leave but could not find the exit. And now I am not here, not sitting on a chair and not trying to lift my left hand to reach out for the right. Top bottom left right cornered and well shielded from the silent world. All I asked for was freedom, but instead the death was served me well. Little did the wishing wall to save me from the paint.