Twenty-sixth Year
by Dark Snake
About This Novel
I am twenty-six years old and he is fifty. His mother said that he was stable, had a house and was in good condition. I nodded, thinking this was stability. But marriage is not a destination, it is a silent exile. We live in the same house, like two dutiful strangers. The food on the dinner table is always warm, but the words are cold. He read the newspaper and I looked out the window; he went to bed early and I stayed awake for several nights. My mother said that marriage must be patient and decent, but I just feel like my heart is freezing a little bit. I thought love would slowly take root, but all that waited was a wall of silence. That stability is not gentleness, but indifference; that calmness is not peace of mind, but stagnant water. The world is already a hell, and marriage is the deepest level. In the name of warmth, I was locked into an empty shell, rotting silently day after day.
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