Chapter I - Getting old

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The newspaper was carefully folded and put to rest on a small table next to the sofa.
This was the end of a daily ritual, where no page was left unread; typically, a two hours round.

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But the ritual was broken.
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Instead of leaving his comfortable seat, the man remained there, left hand rubbing the forehead while looking beyond the great window right in front of him.
The view never ceased to amaze him, but a growing headache was limiting his attention; he was looking but wasn't seeing.

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-"After 72 years..." - Armando rumbled to himself.
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He slowly stood up and walked three steps towards the transparent barrier separating him from the landscape.
These headaches were no longer a mystery, as they obviously appeared after each reading session, despite the fact he already had improved lighting conditions of this one room, his refuge, his solitary cell.

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Outside, the dimming sun created a scene like only few painters would be able to reproduce on canvas. But he was forcing himself to see the details he knew were there; a blur covered parts of his sight, and surely no fog was filling the air outside.
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-"Damn!" - more defeated than angry, unable to deny the truth.

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Slowly turning away from window, Armando picked the newspaper and paused for another while. A decision was made: he had to go to a doctor, and if glasses were needed... so be it.
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Progressing to the door, he couldn't help to feel pain by anticipation; arthritis was taking over his body and Armando knew that by the time he got to the bedroom his full weight would claim its price..

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Already disappearing into the dark corridor, one hand left behind to turn off the light, and then... gone.

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