He leaned  against a car,  parked  near the sidewalk,  and  screamed: "Help!! Someone 
help me!".  After a few of seconds he heard again a whistle  and  a metallic crack on 
his right, near his body. Shit! They were shooting at him again! It was not possible! 
He was risen to his feet another time,  running at breakneck speed, turning right and 
left at random.  He stopped panting near the corner of a palace.  He breathed hardly. 
He gasped.  An hiss came outof his mouth and his heart thundered in the chest. Slowly 
he began  to breathe  in a normal way.  He looked around.  Never he had been  in that 
place.  Probably,  running,  he  had exceeded  the centre  of the village.  He had to 
return  back.  Now  the only sure place  was  his apartment.  Limping,  he turned the 
palace's corner  and  there  a man  of normal build and of grim look  appeared before 
him. That man watched him, came still more near him and after put the left forefinger 
on the lips  and  quickly,  with the other hand,  leant  a cold thing  against Paul's 
throat.  At once he realized that the cold thing was a knife blade.  Nobody still had 
saying one word.  Suddenly Paul understood,  because he came from a great city,  that 
the man was a common robber and that wanted his money.  He put his hand in pocket, he 
pulled  outside his pocketbook  and  handed it at the robber.  He received only a nod 
of refusal. "So what?  Shit,  what do you want?",  Paul cried.  The other man  looked 
into Paul's eyes  for a long moment,  shook slowly his head and then moved fastly and 
laterally his hand.  Then the man  turned round and vanished in the night.  Paul fell 
slowly to the ground,  and lay on his back,  with eyes opened towards the starry sky. 
A damp heat filled up his throat. The life ran away from the new wound. He would have 
so much to cry again, but really he could not.  He did not stand a thing, that is the 
silence that surrounded him everywhere. He hated silenc...