Голод
Part I
ItisthereignofAutumn,theheightoftheCarnivalofDecay,theroseshavegotinflammationintheirblushes,anuncannyhectictinge,throughtheirsoftdamask.
Ifeltmyselflikeacreepingthingonthevergeofdestruction,grippedbyruininthemidstofawholeworldreadyforlethargicsleep.Irose,oppressedbyweirdterrors,andtooksomefuriousstridesdownthepath."No!"Icriedout,clutchingbothmyhands;"theremustbeanendtothis,"andIreseatedmyself,graspedthepencil,andsetseriouslytoworkatanarticle.
Therewasnopossibleuseingivingway,withtheunpaidrentstaringmestraightintheface.
Slowly,quiteslowly,mythoughtscollected.Ipaidattentiontothem,andwrotequietlyandwell;wroteacoupleofpagesasanintroduction.Itwouldserveasabeginningtoanything.Adescriptionoftravel,apoliticalleader,justasIthoughtfit—itwasaperfectlysplendidcommencementforsomethingoranything.SoItooktoseekingforsomeparticularsubjecttohandle,apersonorathing,thatImightgrapplewith,andIcouldfindnothing.Alongwiththisfruitlessexertion,disorderbegantoholditsswayagaininmythoughts.Ifelthowmybrainpositivelysnappedandmyheademptied,untilitsatatlast,light,buoyant,andvoidonmyshoulders.Iwasconsciousofthegapingvacuuminmyskullwitheveryfibreofmybeing.Iseemedtomyselftobehollowedoutfromtopandtoe.
