There was only one thing left to do. He had no desires; he had no purpose in this life. He didn’t believe anymore in a life after death, but that did not bother him. His only wish was to end his pain. The pain of loneliness, and of nostalgia over memories he did not have anymore. He rose again, this time more decisively. There was a small dagger on the floor in front of him, its blade glinting in the almost non-existent moonlight. It was a gift from an Ethiopian friend from his past. The man paused, once again overwhelmed with memories. But he had already decided, and it was too late to go back. His friends were already lost forever. Two of them, a Bengali and a half-German who he used to look up to as his idols, had already died many years ago, and the one who had given him this dagger had decided to live his life in seclusion in the wild forests of Ethiopia.

He made a shallow cut on his wrist first, watching the small beads of blood forming on his pale skin. Then, without thinking, he collected the falling blood onto his finger. If he was to leave this world indefinitely, he might as well leave a note. His mind was blank, but his hands seemed to move by themselves. He had no one to write to, nothing to write about, apart from his Bible. So he decided to sell it, to finally let go of his memories. Then, with one swift motion, he ended his life.

The small dusty book remained on the table, ownerless, now forgotten by all. The only thing that showed it had ever been cared for were the small letters written on it by the man who lay dead beside it. The letters that were visible, even in the pale moonlight, as spelling the name Cody Rees.