An absurd coincidence drives a young man to look for the truth about his deceased father – and find out the price of fatherly love.
I am walking, and I cannot hear my steps. Their tapping is drowned in the lashing rain and the deafening roar of thunder. I have no steps… The cool drops run down my cheeks and my temples, soak through my clothes and lap the bouquet of white narcissi. I can’t help remembering Murphy’s laws–it never rains but it pours. Damn it, I didn’t even take an umbrella! Yet, what does an umbrella have to do with all that?
IX sector, fifth row–there’s the small copper plaque “Sean Simon (2053-2081)”.
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