She sits on the chair in the middle of the room, her hands around her knees. Tears drip from her eyes, her hair disorderly comes down over her pale lean face. She thoughtlessly looks out the window, and a full moon stares her, likewise meaninglessly. A clock teaks somewhere in a corner, barely audibly, but deadly-monotone...
Suddenly her sight brightens, wonderingly and cautiously appeals to the moon. She hears subtle music. No doubt - it's the moon playing its Sonata, eternal as the world itself, touching the strings of thousands of suffering souls...
Her heart beats at a faster pace. At first she is afraid to stir, as any foreign sound can easily stifle this fragile song. But over time, the sound is becoming increasingly apparent, and fills her with hitherto uncharted sweet sense of harmony and inevitability of death.
She rises, holds out her hands to the moon. Her lips are ajar, and now the moon melody of despair completely overwhelms her. She is not afraid any more to break this thread - she closes her eyes and starts to circle around the room. There is no tact and no lyrics in this song, and her movements are irregular and absurd too, like a life itself...
She opens her eyes, but she sees no walls, no windows, no dark buildings of the city. Everything is dissolved in the sound of moon, melted in the dance of her weak body. The whole world of senseless illusions drowned in the merciless reality of being. She is not feared, not frozen, not sad any more. There is only the pale melody of the moon, only this last howl of non-existing universe. But even this unrestrained sound cannot melt her any more...
