As soon as the alarm clock, the one above the bed, started to roar at the first of the hour, the rest of the clocks, even if they were asynchronous, followed and all of the sudden the wall of time turned into wall of sound. Specific frequencies assigned to each clock and bursts in different intervals made it sound like a composition of beauty; a classical master piece. The earsplitting scream echoed as a dissonant note in this composition. She was sitting now on the bed, staring endlessly into the blinds while tears were running away from her eyes. Her quavering transferred onto the bed so that the bed legs started to squeak in contact with the wooden floor. She was whispering to herself: "Just a particle of God. Just a particle of God. I'm just a particle of God" She shook herself out of it like a dog would do with his hair soaked with water and then she reached underneath the bed. Notebook she pulled out. A peeling notebook, with torn pages and smudges of ink. She opened it from one side, read the first page, closed it and flipped it the other way. The title of the page that she closed, as if you could take a glimpse at it stated : "Disregard". The other side of the book, coincidentally, said "Keep" so she shuffled through some pages before writing the following paragraph: "It is dark. I see a bridge, with body of water underneath. Too small to be a river, possibly a stream. Likely in a park because the height of the bridge is around two time the height of a human being. I can not see the shape of the bridge but I see a marking. Number 28. It could be a exhibit number or a mile marker. The vision has smudges. It is not clear. Central thing was this body. Body as if in the bag or it has taken a shape of it, but hanging down. I saw a lot of blood at the water level. Also, the blood was dripping down. I can not see the rope but the body could be bleeding for miscellaneous reasons such as if the wounds were inflicted by the tying rope or the body was killed somewhere else, placed in the bag and now bleeding through it. Why am I assuming a dead body?" She was still kneeling on her pillow with sweat dripping down her forehead but her breathing rhythm became constant. She remained fixed for a minute or so before returning to her erratic behavior and soon after that did she, once again, become adamant on her "dream diary". Skimming though the pages resulted in mumbling from which you could extract solely the following: "Stefan Sokolic, astro-physicist, drowned; Benito Que, biologist, murdered; Tsunami, raped, dead, missing, buried alive. " She dropped her journal, rushed to the closet where she picked up some random jeans and a shirt and headed out the door.
Can you guess who Stefan Sokolic is?
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