When one evokes fantasy to fulfill reality
and thus smooth the absurdity of everyday life, there is a degree of tolerable
acceptance; although humans, mostly when lacking of proper mental tools, hold a
general tendency to do so, these fragile creatures do not have solely physical
ways to bear their inner pain, for they may, likewise, create imaginable
relief. And in the same sense nonetheless, they can deeply disorder themselves.
Eyes were all around as flies in a fish
market bewildered between satisfaction and indecision, and, in the middle of
the small restaurant, was Lauren with her long black hair, in her long red
dress and, consequently, providing a contrast with everything in such a mighty
and silent manner that any distraction in order to pretend her absence was the
only choice left to those inside the place – or at least so she thought.
She ate fast and in fast steps left the
place. The sun was about to sleep and a red atmosphere was painting the faces, houses
and moods with such delicacy that Lauren began to consider the sunset the end
of her life. Of course, not peacefully. Insider her mind, this dreaded thought
walked amidst her other thoughts, became stronger and suddenly it was the whole
reality, something twinkling in her delusion, and her heart thus was beaten
under the immutable decision – somehow, she was going to die in a red sunset.
It was Sunday and barely no one was
walking in the streets, cars were seldom being seen, and every noise sounded
like the last bell of her ultimate sentence. She thought for a moment that her
spine was moving, trying to come out her body, but she realized that it was
something in her own skin; from her back, quickly, all her skin was agitated, vibrating
according to the wind and synchronized with the pumping of her veins. Faster she walked but then even the birds
were observing her, quietly, as if the species, including the smallest ones,
were vultures waiting patiently for her death. One car passed in considerable
speed, coming from behind, she did not look at; until it had been seen in front
of her, every subtle variation of its sound meant that it would go directly to
her to finally smash her small body against some wall. At last, it passed
peacefully, not caring about her by any means. Veins in her fists were in the
last beats of despair; she tried to keep her walking unchangeable. Not more
than one minute had passed until the second car had emerged from an absurd nothingness
about two squares behind - or so she thought - and accelerated as a fresh and
excited lad towards his lover, tending to a furious state, having in this
moment the decision of his life, or, better assumed, having in this moment the
most proper chance to let his genes into the big game he is in, so-called
survival.
At length, she reached her house on the fourth
floor of an old, grey/yellow building which seemed like a geometric block
within her imagination, surrounded by an awkward dusk that should not be there
in a sunset, and fairly illuminated by the red eye of the fading sun. She took
more than 5 minutes to perceive she was shaking in front of her door, holding
the keys, narrowly looking at the numbers and, fascinated by their sounds,
repeating voiceless 3-0-7 unaccountably. She could not recall the last time that
the living room from the doorway had been seen by her, and yet afraid of every wall,
she walked up to the sofa which was facing an unused television. There she sat
and, abstracted by her anxiety, Lauren slid her hands over her thighs, pressing
them as if it was the exact action necessary to cease everything in all times,
in all ways and then, while her eyes were trapped in a horizontal line going
from a big window - leftwards – to the kitchen, she started to touch herself
imagining being observed, rationalizing that, when done, all things would also
be done. Still dressed, almost in the right point of pleasure and feeling her
hand rigid with a sort of pain, she lay prone, having her waist slightly lifted
and the right arm going under her body to euphorically touch her nether regions.
It was then that she noticed a dead cat on the carpet; fat, paws up but
retracted, tongue out, one eye half open and the other closed and she started
to fancy that sexuality could indeed emerge from that fluffy carcass too. She
stared at the cat, hasted as fast as she could, and in that position, half-open
mouth, pale, glazed eyes, the orgasm was finally achieved and her reverie broken.
For a few seconds, Lauren trembled a bit and, bearing a somewhat malicious
smile, kept her position until a sudden sensation of uselessness appears, and,
then, her being was gradually absorbed by it till she was nothing but remains
of her existence.
Undressing herself, she walked over to a
large window in the living room and sat already disrobed while lightning a red
cigarette. There, she rested, looking at the outside, smoking slowly and
watched the night covers the city, still alive.
Cesar Domity
