A life governed by throwing the dice, by Hussein Ali

I thought about the number of days I will spend here this time, which may reach a month, so for a month I will be isolated from the outside world, perhaps even erase it from my mind. I don't know how time will pass during this month with my empty head. I sit on the sofa in front of me is a turned-off television, I have always thought of getting rid of it due to my lack of use for it. On the wall hang three pictures of me and my family when we were happy, pictures that watch me and look at me constantly. A vase holding wilted flowers despite my effort to keep them alive and beautiful, but I don't know what makes them wither and show signs that they will die. There is another sofa I don't sit on, waiting forever for someone else to sit on it. And a single window overlooking the neighborhood garden, showing it perfectly. Everything that happens on it I can see, and I consider myself lucky to have such a window because it is the only thing linking me to the outside world during times of solitude. Hours pass, and my head remains empty of thoughts; I find nothing in it but silence. I feel very tired, and if any idea enters it, it will hurt it. But it is very strange that I remain without ideas, like a fool, like an primitive being. So where did all those ideas I thought of throughout my life run off to? And why is my mind so exhausted that it avoids any idea? It wants nothing but to stay alive for unknown reasons.