Immortals: Slovakia

Urrak

My name is Urrak. I am the oldest living being on this planet. I was born in a time when the world was colder and harsher, when humans were not the dominant species, when we had to fight for survival every day. I was born a Neanderthal, a member of a proud and strong race that lived in Europe and Asia for hundreds of thousands of years.

I don't know how or why I became immortal. I just know that I never aged, never got sick, never died. I saw my family, my friends, my tribe, all perish around me. I saw wars, famines, plagues, disasters, wipe out entire civilizations. I saw the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of religions, the creation and destruction of cultures. I saw the evolution of humanity, from primitive hunters to advanced thinkers, from isolated groups to global networks, from simple tools to complex machines.

I have lived in many places, under many names, in many roles. I have been a hunter, a warrior, a farmer, a trader, a craftsman, a scholar, a teacher, a traveler, a spy, a rebel, a hero, a villain, and more. I have seen the best and the worst of humanity, the beauty and the horror of the world, the joy and the sorrow of life. I have loved and lost, hoped and despaired, laughed and cried, countless times.

But I have never found peace. I have never found a home. I have never found a purpose. I have never found an answer. I have always been alone, always been different, always been restless. I have always wondered why I exist, what I am meant to do, where I belong. I have always searched for something, but I don't know what.

Now I live in Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, a small country in Central Europe. I live in a modest apartment, in a busy street, in a modern city. I work as a librarian, in a public library, in a historic building. I have a fake identity, a fake history, a fake life. I blend in with the crowd, I follow the rules, I keep a low profile. I don't make friends, I don't make enemies, I don't make waves. I don't live, I just exist.

But sometimes, I remember. I remember who I am, where I came from, what I have seen. I remember the stories of my past, the stories of my people, the stories of the world. And I write them down, in a secret journal, in a hidden drawer, in my lonely room. I write them down, because I don't want to forget. I write them down, because I don't want them to be lost. I write them down, because they are the only thing that makes me feel alive.

Maybe one day, I will find someone who will read my stories, someone who will understand me, someone who will accept me, someone who will love me. Maybe one day, I will find a reason to live, a reason to hope, a reason to smile. Maybe one day, I will find what I am looking for.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I will just keep writing, until the end of time.