Not knowing what death was, I loved this place. I had a beautiful view from the bridge, and no bars prevented me from seeing it. I liked to meditate on it, to watch the sunset, and sometimes even to watch the dawn. Unlike my relatives, who came to the castle before dawn, I was not afraid to be here in the morning, and with the hood of my cloak over my head, I stayed until the first rays of the rising sun. Here I was not disturbed neither by the noise of the city nor by the noise of passing cars – I had long ago learnt to abstract myself from reality. And this time, after my conversation with my brother, I morally needed a long reflection. For some unknown reason, this time I felt inferior, an outcast, an outsider in my own family, in which everyone had a meaning in life. That meaning was their other halves. And I was like a person who didn't know what she wanted, or rather, didn't know what she lacked. But what do I lack? I have everything that mortals can accurately dream of: immortality, wealth, perfect physical disguise, a loving family, a vast store of knowledge. What is it that makes me feel inferior and alien when I have everything? I hoped to find the answer to that question. But how quickly would I find it? And, the worst part is that it could be months, years, or even centuries before the answer is found. But even then, I will be unsatisfied: each new guess gives birth to a dozen more questions. And this endless chain will never be broken. And all this time I will have to live with a feeling of mental emptiness. Will I be able to? I can't. I'm a vampire. Immortal.
When I arrived at the bridge, I parked my car in the small car park and headed for the high iron railing.
Whatever superstitious people might say, the Nusle Bridge was a work of art, filled with a special atmosphere of moral freedom and reflection on the mortality of life. Admiring the heavy clouds flying above me, the colour of a stormy sea, with thin veins of grey threads cutting through them, I thought a great deal. There were a few people on the bridge besides me, but they were just curious tourists, seduced by the bridge's terrible beauty. Banal: they would take pictures as a souvenir and soon leave, unable to withstand the aura of hundreds of suicides.