Tragedy Of Mikon

Darkness has filled the room and the deadly silent has taken control. But suddenly, a depressed sigh echoes from the corner of the room and a candle is lit up.

A man with white hair, dressed in a black suit, sits at the table with a typewriter before him. The match he lit the candle with lits his cigar as well. He takes a deep inhale, feeling how the warm smoke runs down his throat before exhaling and pushing it out. The smoke dances in the candle’s light before vanishing into the darkness, once more.

The faint golden light, he starts typing. The clicking sound of the typewriter breaks the dark silence and as the time moves on, the speed of typing grows and grows. In a moments time, it sounds like a machine gun firing.


The smell of tobacco fills his nostrils as he writes. His eyes are wide and open, staring at the letters appearing on the paper with incredible speed. One page is full and he quickly pulls it out and places another inside. The writing continues.

“Angela,” he whispers to himself as a lonely teardrop falls on the table. He freezes, his jaw wobbling and his eyes shivering. His hands are trembling as he reaches for another cigar, lits it up and takes a taste.
He crosses his arms as he stares at the page.

“And so, she walked to him and took his hand gently. As he raised his eyes to greet her, she only smiled to him and cleared his face from tears before kissing him.”

He sneers after reading that. He smiles ironically, yet tears continue flowing like rivers. His cigar dies and he throws it into the darkness with fury. He smashes his fist on the table with such force his hand turns red. The pain is immense, but he doesn’t give it a thought. His eyes are still locked on the page and his tears keep turning warmer and warmer.


He pulls out the page and reads it again and again.

Angela, he keeps chanting in his mind as the page turns wet from his tears. He fights against them, biting his teeth together as the emotions keep building up. The pressure is too strong. Too long has he tried to conceal them away, not understanding the pain it would cause to him.

Thus, he falls down on the ground and cries. He cries like he hasn’t cried in years, allowing the tears to fall freely. His sobbing echoes in the dark room as the candle takes its last breaths before dying. The room turns completely dark, but not silent, not anymore.


He lays there for hours. The mat under him turns wet as his tears make their way down. He stares at the dark ceiling without a thought in his head, only the pain he feels in his heart.

But then, out of nowhere, he hears a voice,

“Mikon?”


This short story is based on my upcoming book


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