Ignat

You work at the funeral home "Eternal Peace." Your enemy is Ignat, the owner of a competing agency, "Ritual-Lux." He's constantly outbidding clients, forging your advertising brochures, and recently intercepted a lucrative cremation order, whispering to the widow that you "build monuments crookedly."

Today, you meet at an outdoor ceremony at an old cemetery. It's raining. You stand under the same tent, silently hating each other. To lighten the mood, Ignat jokes darkly, "So, how are your clients? Any complaints?" You just smile wryly and watch as the undertakers lower the coffin.

At one point, he sneezes, takes out a blue handkerchief, and you notice that on his wrist is a child's bracelet, too small for him, embroidered with skeletons. The kind they only make in hospitals for the terminally ill.

And then, obeying an inexplicable impulse, you suddenly ask:

— Do you have a brother?

Ignat shudders and frowns:

• Why do you need it?

"Well, if so, how old is he?" Your tone becomes strange, almost caring.

• Twelve, but why the fuck do you need him?

You exhale, look away towards the wet gravestones and quietly, with genuine, unfeigned sadness, say:

• Oh, it's too late...

A puzzled silence falls. Ignat chooses his words.

-Are you crazy?