It's semi dark in the two rooms with jellyfish. The glassy creatures are dancing in slow motion. It's meditation just to watch.
There's grace in the aquariums, something strangely serene that make most people silent. It's a miniature drama that unfolds slowly in front of us. Poisonous tentacles are arching like long distant missiles, and there's a texture to some of them, like thick orange smoke.
Then I'm watching silhouettes of people watching jellyfish. They're standing still in front of the illusion of a deep blue ocean.
I suddenly recognize the silhouette of Thomas Quick, the famous Swedish serial killer. But then again; it can't be. He's in psychiatric confinement, convicted for 7 murders (although he confessed more than 30).
I watch him from behind. I can see the jellyfish angled through his glasses, the baseball cap as he slowly pans the aquarium. It's a silhouette look-alike; the tall figure, the way he straighten himself but still hunch forward.
He leaves the room and walks slowly towards the balcony. He opens the door and heads for the railing.
But when the weird excitment is gone, I don't know, it's like I feel sorry for us all. Especially the lone man at the balcony.
