《Quiet kids》


 I.

    ¡®U gon die!¡¯


    That¡¯s what was printed on the cheap scrap of paper that got out of the fortune-telling machine. Y¡¯know, the ones which look like straight outta some racist¡¯s mind, a well-tanned gypsy with a turban or god knows what. I squinted under the video stations¡¯ blue light to see properly. The print didn¡¯t change; I wanted to make sure of the message. I entered another penny in the machine before hearing awful rambling-like sounds and watching the animatronic gypsy¡¯s eyes shining red. Then, he suddenly stopped as though someone had unplugged it.


    ¡®U gon die!¡¯


    The print didn¡¯t change. I squinted again, not because I couldn¡¯t read, but just out of skepticism. I threw the first prediction and kept the second one in my bag, between the English textbook and my precalculus notes. Taking out my phone, it was past 8; I shouldn¡¯t have spent so much time on getting better at old-school games. And it indeed was past 8 when I got out of the arcade and saw the dim moon creeping above the dark streets. I guessed I¡¯d better go home before my father came in. I took my time though, not like he¡¯d have come home earlier to spare him going to the pub.


    I didn¡¯t like my father, more than how I hated almost everyone; I hoped booze would kill him someday, but his liver was sturdier than I thought, so he still lived after my sixteen years of existence. Fortunately, he wasn¡¯t used to beating my mother, even if it did happen twice or so each year. The worst was his mouth; when you could beat anyone in your house, of course you¡¯d yell and insult them whenever you¡¯re fed up. They wouldn¡¯t talk back anyway. That¡¯s exactly how he thought. Swear to god, he was the only one I heard at home, and loudly. My mom and I would just keep quiet.


    And my mom, that weak-ass woman who couldn¡¯t even care enough for what came out of her pussy. It was her fault if I was quiet, it ran in the family, and I found out that it was from her dad during a Thanksgiving dinner since he kept his mouth shut like some dead man. My mom might¡¯ve been more despicable than my father since there were times she couldn¡¯t even remember my name. At least my father yelled it from time to time. She¡¯d barely speak to me, and I think she never once hugged me; I asked one time, and she replied, clearly, that she¡¯d puke if she did so. She was one of these women who didn¡¯t recognize their own kid, but more than that, she was disgusted by the kid. Only the legal obligations to one¡¯s child kept her around me.


    Fuck. By the time I got home, my father was there. They were already eating dinner; he stopped his fork of steak midway to stare at me. My mother was smoking while gathering a fork of mashed potatoes. He stared at me for a while, and the other one kept exhaling her poison under the dim light of the kitchen.


    ¡°FUCK! WHERE DO YOU EVEN FIND THE MONEY TO PLAY VIDEO GAMES, HUH?!¡±


    ¡°I might¡¯ve stolen it from the money you keep for your booze.¡±


    ¡°AND YOU STEAL FROM YOUR OWN FATHER!?¡±


    ¡°For god¡¯s fucking sake, don¡¯t you know what a joke is?¡± I replied.


    ¡°THAT¡¯S IT! NO FUCKING DINNER FOR YOUR ASS!¡± he said as throwing the plate at my seat against a drawer.


    I scorned him as he kept eating grumpily. My mom¡¯s cigarette was almost done. Then, my father talked with her, a monologue given she said nothing; on my side, I ignored their discussion and tried to snitch one of my father¡¯s can beer from the fridge.


    ¡°THE FUCK YOU DOIN¡¯ KID!?¡±


    ¡°Keep up being sober,¡± I replied as showing the can.


    ¡°PUT THAT BACK!¡±


    ¡°Come on, I¡¯m already out of dinner,¡± he sneered and carried on eating. ¡°Why are you early today, anyway?¡±


    ¡°The pub¡¯s fuckin¡¯ closed for a week. I ain¡¯t ¡®bout to drink anywhere else. NOT HAPPY?¡±


    I went up to my room and closed it for the night. I didn¡¯t want to turn on the lights for some reason, so I chugged my beer in the dark, observing the moon from my dirty window. Of course, the prediction was always lurking in a corner of my mind. And of course, I wasn¡¯t scared; not that I didn¡¯t believe it, but rather because I didn¡¯t mind, that is, dying. Everything would equate to naught anyway, what¡¯s the point in giving a fuck. I was actually looking forward to that, and I was eagerly waiting.


    I¡¯d die in seven days. I was sure.


    I had heard my classmates talking about that machine in class, and the prediction seemed always accurate; be it one got out with another, or one had that precise mark for the physic class¡¯ exam, or one broke his arm at baseball, or one¡¯s phone got confiscated, it always happened for sure, and after seven days. I was amazed by how much people carelessly blurted out stuff, but thanks to that, I grew interested in that machine and ultimately tried. I was expecting much less from it though. I laughed somehow. I¡¯d die in seven days and I was supposed to wake up at 6 the next day to go to school? Why not carry on a little bit more this madness? I decided to sleep after finishing the can.


    Staring at the ceiling while tucked in my pajamas and my blanket, I wondered what I should do now that I could count my remaining days on my fingers; maybe doing what I always dreamt of? Hell no, dreams are for suckers, I had none anyway. Welp, there was nothing else to do except that. But no. Maybe carry on a little bit more with this madness? Yeah, let¡¯s just keep our everyday miserable life, I thought. I stared and stared at the ceiling as the small cracks on it became more and more visible under daylight. At some point, I heard wiping sounds accompanied by glass shards rubbing against tiling. I didn¡¯t blink a single time.


    Meanwhile, my stomach started growling like hell; the first rays of daylight pushed me to go find breakfast. By the time I reached the kitchen, my mother was there, in her nightgown, with a half-finished cigarette. She looked at my eyes, I stared harder, she averted her sight¡­ She left her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and headed over to the living room, away from her offspring. I just shrugged and wondered what my breakfast would be. Looking at the watch above the fridge, I had plenty of time before school. Some eggs were lying around, and I stole some of the bacon my father liked so much.


    The crackling sound of the oil was more talkative than me. I liked that sound; at least it wasn¡¯t my father yelling, or my mother internally crying. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting before an omelet, some bacon, a buttered slice of bread, and a warm cup of tea. I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea. I laughed a little bit while thinking about that. I didn¡¯t take my time though; I wanted to leave before encountering my father. It took me less than five minutes, and twice that time later, I was fully prepared. I grabbed my bag and rapidly said goodbye to my mom while passing through the living room. She just carried on watching the morning news.


    It was too early; bakeries might¡¯ve not even been opened. It was that moment when day splashed its blood into the night and shone that awfully vibrant orange amid the somber sky. I stayed a while on the porch, gazing at the changing sky. At last, it became dull, very dull, not even like a rainy day, but just like a grayish canvas you couldn¡¯t even use because of the color. My eyes stung a little bit since the change of contrast between the sky and the old streets was too sudden when I lowered my head. I carried on walking to school.


    School. That was one of the places I hated the most. As much as I hated almost everybody. Because I hated everybody. Their madness could kill you. They¡¯re not even dumb, no, they¡¯re deliberately dumb. Jerks. They think the world revolves around them. Hypocrites. Always lying to one another for god knows why. Hypocrites. Always ignoring all the world¡¯s suffering. Hypocrites. Always dishonest with themselves, trapped in the cage they made. Hypocrites. Always blaming the other for the cage.


    They¡¯re full of hatred, against everything, and against themselves. So they seek nothing. Bring forth nothing. So that everything will be as empty as their heart.


    My hatred of them was perfect.


    Because I¡¯d wake up before my father, I was never late at school, always way too early. I liked school when they weren¡¯t there. I felt like I owned that place, that I could do anything. I could hit the locker as much as I wanted, only that sound echoed. It was like time dilation around a black hole, but I was an absolute observer; everything slowed down, while I knew it. And that somehow made me happy; no homework, no class, no professor, no ¡®them¡¯¡­ Nothing, only an infinite time¡ªwhich unfortunately ended when the bell rings.


    I wasn¡¯t different from them in fact. I only knew I was the same. And I hated that.


    There was that girl though who always came early, earlier than me; each time, my feeling of property over the world would momentarily break when I¡¯d see her seating and reading in our lonely classroom. She was always reading 19th and 20th century French poetry;Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine, Hugo, Chateaubriand, Apollinaire, Lamartine¡­And she¡¯d always have an English-French dictionary on her table. I thought she didn¡¯t have a phone. And the morning rays of the sun were always scattered across her face, round glasses leaned upon lyrical verses while her tomboyish, very short, blond hair emanated a golden glow.


    Her name was Kimberly.


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    I knew nothing of her, but there were a few things I noticed in class; she was a bit like me. I never saw her talking with one of our classmates. Also, she was seated on the front row, and she was my neighbor; my table was at the farthest left of the room, and hers was just right mine. They were all seated in the rear rows. And above all, she was awfully quiet; her eyes didn¡¯t seem dead, but there was an exasperation in them which made her very cold. Hid before her glasses, they seemed livid. Her whole being was apathetic, but her eyes were perfect in that way. I never wanted to talk with her since she was known to have a sharp tongue; y¡¯know, the kind of tongue that tells you how absurd it¡¯s all is. That is, that tells the truth. I heard her once, saying to a guy, I quote ¡®I¡¯m trying to read so could you shut up since your opinion wouldn¡¯t matter anyway and doing so would at least reduce the CO2 emission¡¯; I hid my laughter.


    But I liked her a bit for that. I like honest people. They know how absurd it¡¯s all is.


    She was indeed there when I got into the classroom. This time, she broughtBaudelaire¡¯s¡®Les Fleurs du Mal¡¯, and as usual, with the dictionary on her table. I felt like saying good morning to her somehow, but she just continued reading. I sat as quietly and took my unfinished homework out; there was nothing better to do anyway. At some point, she handed me her answers, very rapidly; I didn¡¯t even see her moving her hand that she was again reading. Thanks to her giving me answers from time to time, it¡¯d spared me being scolded by a professor, or having bad grades. Well, I was already fine on my own, but she sure helped. It might¡¯ve been her way of showing appreciation, too bad I couldn¡¯t have done something in return. I thanked her as usual and she replied with silence as usual.


    ¡°Thanks, Kimberly,¡± my voice reverberated in the lonely classroom.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine with Kim,¡± she said after a while.


    We made some progress, I thought as staring at her, dumbfounded.


    ¡°Thanks, Kim,¡± I replied.


    That¡¯s the first time I heard her speak to me, let alone speaking with someone as gently.


    ¡°Wow Kim, I feel honored to hear your voice,¡± I teased.


    ¡°I do speak,¡± she said in an almost whisper.


    ¡°Here it goes again! No really, does that mean we¡¯re friends now?¡±


    She said nothing.


    Incidentally, while taking out my English textbook, the prediction dropped on the floor like a feather. I grasped it as rapidly before facing Kim; she was staring at me hard. I pretended nothing happened and she kept stabbing me with her gaze. Her eyebrows were very slightly arched down.


    ¡°What was that?¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Nothing important.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not blind. It was one of these predictions. Carry on lying if you want,¡± her sentences were heavy.


    ¡°You saw what was written on it?¡±


    ¡°¡®Nothing important,¡¯ huh? ¡®U gon die¡¯, that what was written on it.¡±


    A silence followed while I desperately tried to play it cool. Her gaze was awfully violent, it made me back off my chair an inch further. Soon enough, she went back to her reading as though nothing happened. I sighed a little bit.


    ¡°Are you scared?¡± she blurted out, all attention on Les Fleurs du Mal.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Are you scared?¡± still all focused.


    ¡°Of dying, you mean?¡±


    ¡°Duh, what else?¡±


    ¡°Not the slightest. Do you actually think I¡¯ll die?¡±


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, yes. Reasonably, not really.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s the best theory for you?¡±


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard. It¡¯s better that way.¡±


    ¡°That I die?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like it, for me, not for you. Who wouldn¡¯t anyway?¡±


    ¡°A lot of people. They can¡¯t understand, so fear comes. I guess you¡¯re not one of them.¡±


    ¡°Death is the only outcome of life. It¡¯s our sole salvation.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re rather pessimistic, Kim.¡±


    ¡°Imagine your brain cease to work, like how clinical death is defined. No brain, no mind. No mind, no way to process your senses. No senses, no reality. No reality¡­ nothing. And all that process almost instantaneously. See, it¡¯s almost magic. I¡¯m not pessimistic, I¡¯m realistic.¡±


    ¡°What a cold logic.¡±


    ¡°Logic isn¡¯t cold, or gentle¡ªor bad, or good¡ªit¡¯s either true or false, and it ends there.¡±


    ¡°You really think death is our sole salvation?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°What about love?¡±


    ¡°An illusion caused by the biochemical and electrical signals of your brain, all that for procreation.¡±


    ¡°What about kindness?¡±


    ¡°Only an effective way of survival. And it can be proved mathematically.¡±


    ¡°What about beauty?¡±


    ¡°¡­There nothing such as beauty. It¡¯s just a made-up concept.¡±


    ¡°Ah! I¡¯m not hearing a well-developed argument! That¡¯s all you have to say about beauty?¡±


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t need it.¡±


    ¡°Losing aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not arguing with you anymore.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand beauty, don¡¯t you? Well, it ain¡¯t something to be understood. But I¡¯ll tell you something, beauty will save the world. Dostoyevsky said it, Schopenhauer agreed, Proust developed it in his magnum opus. And what even is salvation if we can¡¯t even enjoy since we¡¯ll be dead?¡±


    ¡°Then SHOW me! Show me the beauty and I¡¯ll tell you it¡¯s useless!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you anyway, I¡¯ll take these last seven days to show you you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have better to do?¡± she snapped.


    ¡°Don¡¯t YOU have better to do than arguing with a dying man, Kim?¡±


    ¡°Alright, show me your so-called beauty. But don¡¯t you have better to do like I said?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m free ¡®til I die, I¡¯m freer than anyone, free to do all I want. And what I want is to show you you¡¯re WRONG.¡±


    ¡°If beauty can save us, that there¡¯s something out there that can save us, why aren¡¯t you afraid of dying?¡±


    ¡°I was just asking myself this morning. That¡¯s because beauty is already saving me. When you¡¯re sure about your end, everything becomes beautiful; this table, this classroom, this window, the blackboard, your glasses, your hair, your face, your little nose, your eyes. EVERYTHING BECOMES BEAUTIFUL.¡±


    I realized after she didn¡¯t reply that my comment sounded like sexual harassment.


    ¡°¡­ANYWAY,¡± she averted her eyes. ¡°Define what beauty is, first.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you ever stopped your thought and just felt happy?¡±


    ¡°¡­I can¡¯t even remember when was the last time I felt happy.¡±


    ¡°¡­What do you mean?¡±


    She kept quiet. Not like usual, but she didn¡¯t want to speak. I sighed and continued copying the answers. Soon enough, the classroom filled itself with students, vainly chatting and waiting for the inevitable bell. It rang, and another dull day defiled before my eyes. I watched Kim for the whole day, thinking back about her strange quietness; she did notice I was staring, and she blushed from time to time, averting her eyes away from mine. The day went by very slowly, so slowly I actually looked forward to my death. See, there was no beauty in that room, only madmen chatting with madmen, doing futile stuff. They¡¯re mean, aren¡¯t they? They don¡¯t care about you; they¡¯ll just spit out everything about them, hoping another could understand. They¡¯re mean, too mean to be pitiable even in their struggle. There is no beauty in their struggle.


    My head felt like exploding. I hit it several times on my desk, but it still wouldn¡¯t go away. Their rumbling made me sick. At some point in my deliria, I felt a hand patting my shoulder. I thought it was Kim, but she was reading; I carried on watching her after lifting my head to see who it was. Maybe some things are inherently ugly, I thought. At least she didn¡¯t lay in the latter category. I kept looking at her to ease my mind.


    Even being seated at the front row, I didn¡¯t mind the slightest dozing off in class; after a while after noon, I just brought my head on my cold desk and shut my eyes. I slept soundly; maybe because I didn¡¯t blink once the previous night, or rather, I was just fed up with them. Not even the bell ringing freedom for the rest of the day woke me up. Ultimately, I felt something heavy being thrown at my back; I shouted not too loud before patting my spine, suppressing the pain with other signals. The sun was quite above the horizon when it shone its light upon the object that hurt me: a thick English-French dictionary. Kim, I thought.


    Standing at the right of her seat, she was looking at me with her uncompassionate eyes, well-hid behind her round glasses. She was clinging to her bag on one hand, and tightly holding Les Fleurs du Mal against her breast while I threw her puzzled glances as to why I was suddenly attacked. She stared at me while saying nothing. I got enough of her quietness and looked around, trying to find other clues to solve my own case; no one. They left already; the classroom was as lonely as the morning. It might¡¯ve been because of the dying sun, but it felt very vacant, unlike how I liked it. I wanted to get out as soon as possible. I took my bag and mindlessly passed by Kim; I had totally forgotten about what happened in my hurry to run away. She tugged my sleeve, and even without putting force in her movement, I stopped dead.


    I turned at her as confusedly, but she just lowered her head and admired the tiles shimmering under a morbid light.


    ¡°¡­Wanna go home together?¡± she asked as timidly.

 II.

    "¡­Wanna go home together?" she asked as timidly.


    I was about to reply ''Boy, that escalated quickly,'' but I was too fazed by her sudden change in character, in being, to tease her. As abruptly as she morphed, she walked out; I followed her as I accepted her invitation. Her silence echoed awfully well in the hollow corridors drenched in Helios'' blood. I went after her while listening to our deafening footsteps. By the time we reached the school''s gate, I''d finally accustomed a little bit to that other side of her, which I only saw a glimpse of anyway.


    "By the way, where do you live?"


    "Around ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª street," she replied.


    "Ok¡­ I live at the total opposite but it''s fine, I guess," I simply commented.


    Silence decidedly prevailed over her character. I wondered why she suddenly wanted to go home together, our discussion earlier maybe? It must''ve been it. Fortunately living in a town next to the sea, the evening waves violently beating the golden sand served as a substitute to our muteness, and carried on its bloodshed as bringing sand to its own depth for a while. Though I could feel Kim''s urge for a chat and I couldn''t bring myself to utter something. Her shadow was swaying a few feet before me on the dry concrete as she walked under a dying star''s radiance.


    "I had something in mind," she blurted out.


    "Huh, is it related to what we said this morning?" I tried to quicken my pace to reach her.


    "Kinda. Y''know when you tried to define beauty¡­"


    "I think you replied with something like ''I can''t even remember the last time I was happy''¡­"


    She stopped walking; compulsively, I felt like stopping too. She didn''t turn at me but simply stayed in that state for enough time to be called a while.


    "You fine?" I asked as getting closer.


    "Do you think we''re friends?" she asked back, still not facing me and veiling her face with her back.


    "Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, if I can call you Kim that means we''re kinda close¡ªand friends, y''know. And I really appreciate when you give me answers, but there''s not much for me to do to show my gratitude." I stumbled on my words before another change of heart.


    "Can I tell you something then?" I was just before her when she murmured it.


    "That''s what friends are for, I think," of course, I had no proper friend.


    At last, she turned at me while our faces were almost colliding. Her face was livelier; her lips were very slightly tightened, something I noticed only because of our closeness. She sat on the rim between concrete and beach sand before facing that infinite-looking line that is the horizon. The crimson sun gleamed in her eyes and on her glasses. I sat next to her and she kept quiet for a while. I waited for her confession.


    "When you talked to me about feeling happy, I didn''t understand either. It''s been so long since the last time I was ''happy''" she gestured air quotes very frailly. "Here''s what I wanna tell you¡ªI hate home. I think I could burn it down with all the people in it if I ever snapped¡ªand it could happen anytime. Let''s see," she said in a very low tone. The sun''s glow vanished from the chasm of her eyes. "My step-father. He rapes me at least twice in a week, and he doesn''t miss a chance to beat me or my mother."


    She pulled up her cardigan to show her back; no light escaped the dark bruises on her soft skin. I blushed a little bit as seeing a part of her bra, but I blushed more as realizing of how rude it was of me while she was dead serious. There was a big scar diagonally running her right side; she instinctively tried to hide it.


    "¡­That''s a gift my real father left me before killing himself. He was nuts, a drug addict. That shit trashed his mind. One day, he just snapped and almost killed my mother and me. Oh, and my mother, that good for nothing. She hears it when I''m moaning out of disgust while that other asshole puts his dick in my pussy. And y''know what, she does nothing, like always, and then she still beats me after being beaten by the asshole, ''cause I fucked with him, she said. ''Fuckin'' slut, y''like it when he plunges his dick in your young and nice ass, don''t ya?'' that''s what she always says and she waits for a ''yes'' from me before stopping.  I think my father made her nuts too; she just knows how to hide it."


    I didn''t know how to reply. She crossed her arms and tried somehow to warm herself up. I wanted to touch her; she seemed so fragile I was scared of doing so. I reached her hand. It was warm despite the cold of her eyes.


    "I''m very sorry," was the only thing I managed to say.


    "HOW can you be sorry?" she replied.


    "I dunno. If there was a god up there, guess I''m very sorry on his behalf," I stumbled on my words.


    "There NO god up there, or else we wouldn''t be down here. NO nice¡ªall-powerful¡ªgod, that''s for sure."


    "Then I''m sorry because I don''t know what to reply."


    "Tell me you listened¡ªtell me you understood," her voice quivered.


    "I understand," I told her.


    "And do you really think that beauty can save me, now?"


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    "I still believe so. I''ll show you for sure."


    She stood up very suddenly and started walking again without sparing me a glance. I followed her while the sun erased for good. Her being only seemed so delicate to me; her self was a living oxymoron opposing the flimsiness of her body and the rigidity of her will. For the rest of our small journey, it was as though she was walking alone. I could only follow her from behind like some impotent ghost. Soon enough, we were before her evils'' house; it was very normal, very mundane, who would''ve guessed the atrocities that lay inside. And in the hearth of these atrocities, there lay a girl no stronger than a lily.


    I watched her from the lawn; even I didn''t want to get close to that place. She rang the bell, and a fair-haired woman, her mother supposedly, opened. Her mother seemed very nice; she indeed knew how to hide her folly. I backed off a little bit when the latter grabbed Kim''s hand. She didn''t look afraid though, she just sighed. Her mother slammed in a similarly well-hid violence the door. For some reason, I just stayed by the lawn, staring at the damn house; I felt like puking some nasty things. After ten minutes or so, I gathered all my might and strolled around the house; I could hear a big thump against the walls.


    It repeated itself for some time, then I listened to someone sobbing; that too continued for a while. I heard her screams then, and another woman shouting senseless stuff. It was very dissonant. I didn''t know why I kept listening anyway, but her strident cries for help seemed like whispers that bewitched me. I wanted to puke again. In the background of her cries, there was that dry thud. Actually, it might''ve been louder than her cries. But I cared more for the latter. It continued until a crescent moon showed. I peered at the abysses of the night, back leaned on the backdoor of that indifferent house, while her sobs were gently muting. She had said ''yes''.


    I went home as though nothing happened.


    The night was darker than I''d remembered; the dim lights felt like distant stars perched in the infinite chasm of space. I could barely see my hands. My footsteps were as distant; everything became distant for some reason. As though I''d closed my eyes and fell into a nightmare, only to be an outsider watching. I stopped dead in the dead of the streets. Then, I felt puking again; the feeling disappeared as rapidly as it came. I felt frantic. I walked again as frantically. Soon enough, I was before my own house. The light scattering from the windows made me feel like puking again, and then frantic.


    When I got in, they were dining in the kitchen, like the day before; he was shouting about goddamn shits, and she was killing herself with smoke. They didn''t notice me while I stood by the doorframe, staring at them. They didn''t notice me. I went for a beer can in the fridge. He yelled something. I went up the stairs while he carried on rambling loudly. I closed my door. He knocked on the door like trying to smash it down. It sounded like polyrhythm beats. He knocked and yelled, knocked and yelled, knocked and yelled¡­ He got fed up and went down again, resuming his dinner.


    I sank down the beer in the dark. My eyes were locked on the mocking moon, as though she was mad laughing at me. I heard the screams again. Worse, I heard her sobs. It bounced back and forth inside my brain. I was awfully awake when I saw it was around 11. Everything was somber, somber than the streets, somber than their hearts.


    I felt frantic again.


    I went down to the living room. Next to the TV, well-exposed behind its display case, there was a shotgun. He bought it for hunting and hunting off robbers. I stood before it for a while. It was the only thing my eyes could see in the dark. Suddenly breaking the night''s muteness, I took it. I went to the kitchen, that''s where the cartridges were. They were at the bottom of a drawer, in their box. I pushed in three shells in the magazine. I loaded it and went up the stairs.


    I went into their chamber; they were soundly sleeping. I could hear him snoring while she was wearing a night mask. I took his car''s key and put it in my pocket. There was a safe under their bed; I took it out, entered the code, and took all that was in there. I put it in a plastic bag lying around in their room.


    Then, I aimed from above his head, his sleepy head. I shot.


    She screamed but said nothing, uttered nothing. She crept into a corner of the room. I aimed at her. She was quiet as usual. I backed the gun down and took the plastic bag. I went back to my room, she stayed in her corner. I rapidly took some clothes, curled them in a ball into my bag, went down, took the other cartridges in the kitchen, and got out. Under the dim lights, my tee-shirt shone crimson. I started the car engine and headed over to her place.


    I drove frantically with the shotgun next to me, and the plastic bag in the back seat. I drove and drove for what seemed like an infinite time. The streets were void. No one around. No ''them''.


    I was standing by her lawn again. I went for the backdoor. Closed. I forced it open. Loudly. It was dark inside, I was in their kitchen. A light sparkled in the living room. The man got down the stairs. He stopped dead when I cocked the gun at him. He raised his rapist''s hands, his rapist''s hands trembled in fear. I shot as soon as I loaded it. His rapist''s guts scattered across the living room; the grayish carpet blended with crimson. His rapist''s body stopped moving.


    The hypocrite wacko was standing in the middle of the stairs, watching the dead rapist in horror. I raised the gun. She screamed and started moving her hypocrite wacko''s feet. I shot as soon as I loaded it. The magazine was empty. Her hypocrite wacko''s body collapsed down the stairs like some thrown ragdoll. She left a crimson trail on its wood.


    I shot three times in total.


    Then, Kim was standing by the top of the stairs, awfully awake. She was staring at me in her dark purple pajamas, in her usual silence. Her eyes seemed brighter. Her eyes were filled with neither fear, nor disdain, nor disgust, nor contempt, nor happiness, nor joy. Just livelier. But she was apathetic as always.


    "You killed them?" her cold tone resonated in the whole house.


    "Let''s get outta here. Take some clothes, whatever you need. I''ll be waiting in the car outside."


    I went back to the car and sat in there. My tee-shirt still shone crimson. I put on another one. Soon enough, smoke veiled the stars. She''d snapped. The house flashed and exhaled awfully bright blazes in the obscurity. A deadly heat drenched the surrounding. Her shadow swayed before this hellish scenery.


    She came with a pile of French poetry and a shoulder bag, accompanied by a strong scent of fuel and burn. She went in and put her luggage in the back seat. She stopped a little while seeing the plastic bag through which green reflected. She put on her seatbelt. I''d forgotten to put on mine.


    "What''s the plan now that you''ve killed two psychos?" she asked without looking at me.


    "Three. Plus my father¡ªI don''t know."


    "There should be a rundown house by ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª hill. The one giving on the beach. You know the place?"


    "Yeah, the one where a whole family was murdered. Only a killer like me would go there. You fine with that?"


    "Let''s go," she finally said.


    I started the engine and drove. That was a famous house, the devil''s house like they called it. Even if it was two hours from our town, it was notorious because of these murders. Two hours driving along the coast, and we''d be there. I guessed it would be around 5 a.m. or so when we''d got there. She slept in the cradle of the blank night as I handled the steering wheel. Her sleeping face mirrored more and more accurately in her window as the sun slaughtered the shadows again. I didn''t care watching a clock.

 III.

    The house was lone on a high hill. Anyone could''ve climbed up there since there was no fence; the world was its full domain as it was perched high, barely touching the sky. It did seem a little rundown, with some dirt here and there, and more in some corners. The paint was cracking while it''d lost its life. And as lonely as the house, there was a solitary olive tree standing not so far from the porch. Its scent would invade the surroundings, vainly trying to search for more than space, vainly trying to find another soul, or rather, similar leaves.


    Down the hill, a beach stretched away. As lonely. There was only the golden of the sand, and the infinite blue of the sea, which¡¯d meet by the horizon with another infinite blue belonging to the sky. Well, an infinite bright amber amalgamated with an infinite gray since it was early dawn and the threat of rain plagued the atmosphere by the time I parked the car. I got out and leaned on the car''s bumper to take a breath. The enthralling scent of olive leaves kept me company for a bit while Kim was still sleeping. It was a hard-to-describe scent, like any other actually. You wouldn''t know how to describe wood''s, or a good meal''s, or cigarette''s scent anyway. Let''s just say it felt nice, mild, and mesmerizing like gasoline''s odor.


    I visited the house a little bit to get accustomed to it. Time itself stopped inside the house; even the main door wasn''t locked. Everything was seemingly the same as they left it when they died. The curtains weren''t shut; dawn''s light poured inside and gleamed all over the place. I went into the living room first; there was a large sofa in there before a small TV, next to which was a single armchair. Shelves and ornaments here and there. A lot of dust, though. A wide carpet, somehow comfy. A wooden table was spreading across the room''s width, without even a particle of dust on it, with five chairs around it, two of which were at its ends. There was a blank vase in the middle of it, with a dead-dry flower I couldn''t recognize. It was the only trace of time, with dust, in the house.


    The kitchen was fairly mundane; though, there was an old-looking apron folded on a small round table''s chair, y''know, the ones where you''d eat breakfast alone when nobody''s up. It seemed straight outta a 50s'' ad featuring a good wife. When I opened the fridge, it was of course empty, even if there were still some utensils in the drawers when I checked earlier, but the light bulb was indeed working. I tried to switch on the kitchen¡¯s light, and it worked too; great, there was oddly electricity. I didn''t mind further though. I turned the sink''s tap too and the water was running clean; even better, it heated at some point. The house wasn''t as desolated as it seemed. There was a laundry door from the kitchen, quite little; the only thing in there was a washing machine, a drawer with cleaning materials of the same size, and a basket standing above the machine.


    Since I went around the first floor, I climbed up the stairs and investigated the rooms. There were three of them, plus a bathroom. Two doors were almost opposing at the right of the stairs; in the first one, there were two small beds, obviously for kids, also given the posters and the comics, toys still laying around. The beds were too small for either Kim or me; if we were to sleep in here, I thought, this room''s no good. The drawers were empty, same for the closet.


    The other room though was quite dull; there was only a bed, big enough this time, and a desk with a lamp on it. All the curiosities of the room lay upon that desk; there was a fountain pen, some deep indigo ink, and a typewriter. The thousands of paper scattered on it were almost all illegible; the writings were blurred, probably because something had soaked them. The remaining sheets were as blank as the room. A trash bin was hidden not too far, with some ash in it. I thought someone had burnt the other papers. Everything else in the room was dull, empty, like the drawers and the closet and the papers.


    I got inside the bathroom next. Blank. The whiteness of the room didn''t blind me for some reason, it was just bright. And fairly mundane too. A mirror above a sink, nothing behind it though, a bathtub, and a small door which led to the toilet. It sure was my lucky day since there was some toilet paper left, but quite rough. All the light which gushed in there was from a unique window, quite high, which wasn''t even that large to begin with.


    At last, I reached the last room; this was definitely the parental chamber given the broad bed in there. Another carpet stretched across the floor, still as comfy. There was one place that kept my attention; it was one of these narrow, extending spaces centered on a window. An alcove, it¡¯s called if I¡¯m not mistaken. I guessed it was made for two people to sit by. The window gave unto the downwards hill''s scenery, and further, the extending sea. If you were to just stay in front of it, you''d only see infinite extending azure, meeting with another of its kind by the horizon. You''d see the sea and the sky almost blending around the horizon.


    As I was about to go down and wake up Kim, I noticed a trapdoor leading to what was probably the attic in the middle of the second floor''s hallway. I didn''t go up though, maybe another time. I went down the stairs and noticed something else; the house''s keys were just on a small table of the first floor''s tiny hallway. Another thing, there were no frames or photos hung around; I realized it when I saw some nails sticking out of their walls, neatly aligned with others. I could picture perfectly well the arrangement of each frame, but what they framed was a mystery. A vague image of a happy family ran in my mind, and as soon as it gave me chills, I threw away the thought. I grabbed the key and put them in my pocket.


    Around twenty minutes or so elapsed since the last time I saw Kim, but she was still and absolutely asleep in her dark purple pajamas. I tried to wake her up, gently, but she wouldn''t; I didn''t try harder somehow and just let her in the land of dreams. Ultimately, I decided to carry her to a more suitable place to sleep; the last room might suit her, I thought. I felt a bit uneasy as lifting her up from her seat. Her delicateness hadn''t escaped my mind. She yawned a little bit in my movement, but carried on sleeping ¡®til the end. Her warmth made me chill a bit; there was a fair amount of wind blowing around the house.


    So, I carried her inside, up the stairs, and into the room. I took off her glasses, put them on the nearby nightstand, and tucked her inside the wide bed''s blanket. Maybe the house was bad-conditioned, but I still felt the chills even up there. I drew the thick curtains to darken the room since Kim was so soundly asleep. It was as though her face amid the semi-darkness was glowing when some sun rays fled through the unclosed areas of the curtains and hit her. She didn''t mind the slightest and was still deep in slumber. I didn''t bother to draw properly the curtains.


    Next thing I did, I took our entire luggage inside the house; I leaned the shotgun near the entrance door and put its cartridges in one of the kitchen drawers (it''d become a tradition). As for her books, and her bag, I went back to the room where she was dozing and placed them on the nearby nightstand too. I decided to take the room with the typewriter in it and put my stuff in a corner there; my bag, and the money I took. I didn''t know what to do next. I tidied up the desk then and made a pile of the undecipherable sheets. The pile was standing fiercely at the far end of the study with the fountain pen and the ink next to it, while the typewriter I later cleaned was in the middle.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I played around with its keys for a bit; it echoed well in the almost void room. I liked the sound, it was more talkative than me. I got bored at some point and went to check-in for Kim. Yep, definitely asleep. She was curled up like a ball, warmly tucked in the blanket at one side of the bed; there was a hollow space next to her. It was calling me. I was suddenly coated in drowsiness. I wanted to sleep there for some reason, next to her sleepy face. I took out my shoes and crept in very slowly, afraid of awakening her. It felt really warm when I got in the blanket.


    Her napping face imprinted in my retinae as the same sun rays reflected off her face. I sank deeper and deeper, closed my eyes tighter and tighter¡­ Her image was the last thing that remained.


    I slept for a while. There was no clock around, but I could tell since I felt dizzy when I woke up. The sun was already high up in the sky and further; the weather didn''t improve though. The sun looked like a white brilliant ball underneath a dense veil of cloud. Her glasses weren''t on the nightstand anymore and the thick curtains were drawn back, letting in some faint light filtering through the clouds straight out of an ashtray. Waves were beating the sand harder. And she no longer was in the room.


    Her books hadn''t changed position; she was probably not far. I got out of the room and heard some noises coming from downstairs, sometimes blended with white noises and statics. I went down and encountered Kim, sitting cross-legged on the sofa in her deep purple pajamas and watching the news. And guess what, it was about me: a teenager hunted for triple murder and arson. There was no portrait of the criminal though, only a poor description followed; they had nothing on me. But there was also nothing about Kim, or about her crime, or about the atrocities done to her, or about ''her''. As though a Kimberly never lived in that house. The TV''s reflection indifferently bounced off her round glasses amid the afternoon''s dimness.


    She turned her head at me, kinda coldly, and stared at me for some time.


    "How many days left?" she asked.


    "Six with today, I think," I could get what she was referring to.


    She kept quiet a bit. "How do these predictions work anyway?"


    "Dunno," I blatantly replied.


    "No, I mean, is it just magical, like, it''ll just kill you on a whim, or is it fully deterministic?"


    "Damn, the fortune-telling machine''s some kinda Laplace''s demon? Wouldn''t that mean he knows everyone''s unchanging future and past, his own included? And that we''re all trapped by a singular fate? Wait, that''s like an all-knowing god!"


    "That''s still NOT a nice, all-powerful god¡­ It''s disturbing somehow to know that god lies within an animatronic gypsy, and more to realize it''s impotent," she finished our little argument.


    She changed the channel and watched some cartoons. The weather didn''t do well to the TV; the statics carried on from time to time. Even with that little time left, I still wondered what to do. My stomach growled. Food. There was no food in the fridge. That was the next thing to settle.


    "Hmm, Kim, you know cooking?"


    "I guess," she said. "When someone could beat you when the dinner tasted bad, you gotta learn. I pretty much know all the house-related stuff too, because of the same asshole."


    I didn''t know how to reply.


    "Well, I''m heading to town to buy some food. You need something else?"


    "Might as well go with you since I''ll be cooking," she replied.


    "Alright. I left your clothes and your stuff in the room you napped in. You should take a shower too, smells like fuel and burnt. Know where the bathroom is?"


    "The door in front of the room, yeah," she turned off the TV.


    I followed her up the stairs and headed the opposite way in the hallway, to the room where I left my own stuff. I changed my clothes and grabbed a fat wad of bills from the plastic bag. The shotgun was still leaning near the entrance when I went down. When I got to the car, the olive scent hit me strong; it made me stay outside for a bit as waiting for Kim, leaned on the car''s bumper again. If I focused, I could perfectly and absolutely hear the waves cruelly beating the sand like it was the only sound on earth. No cries though. I looked at my phone and realized it was 3 p.m. It made me wonder since when she was awake, maybe not too long before me, I hoped. She might''ve starved too.


    When she got out of the house, I closed the door behind her; her smell blended with the olive¡¯s as she was drying. Her very short blond hairs were still wet, even a little bit dripping on her loose hoody. I liked how her soft thighs were showing underneath her tights because of the humidity.


    "Gotta buy towels, soap, shampoo, teeth brushes, toothpaste¡­ There''s nothing in the bathroom," she complained.


    "Remind me later. Didn''t I tell ya to take all the things you needed," I replied back.


    "Oh sorry," she overdramatically said. "When a guy just comes randomly killing the people in your house and tells you ''let''s get outta here'', these aren''t the first thing you''d take."


    "Ok, I get it. Just go in the car now, please."


    She hmpfed a bit and went straight into the car. I sighed as hearing her complaints. I started the engine and headed over to the town below. Actually, the house wasn''t so isolated, at least in some way, since the nearest town, the one below, was just about twenty minutes of ride. She stayed pretty much silent too, she just blurted out some of the things we needed in the house from time to time. That wasn''t really what I meant by ''remind me later'', but I wasn''t about to tell her to shut up just for it. It kinda bugged me though. Something funny came into my mind while I mindlessly listened to her listing things after another.


    "AH! But you still took your books!" I interrupted triumphally.


    "The hell you talking about?" she hissed.


    "When a guy just came randomly killing the people in your house and told ya ''let''s get outta here'', the first thing you take is your books, huh?" I teased her.


    She scorned a little bit. "These are very important to me, I''ll let you know," she sounded serious.


    I stopped teasing her further and I just drove. Soon enough, she carried on listing.

 IV.

    The town below the house was quite small; the scent of salt coming from the sea was easily engulfing its whole. There were few people out in the streets, but they seemed somehow happy to live. I used my phone sometimes to see from a map where the nearest supermarket was. On the way, Kim advised me to remember the streets, and all the other stores we¡¯d pass by too. I remembered a convenience store, a drugstore, a restaurant, and other stuff (which I didn¡¯t remember). We finally got to the supermarket and I stopped the car in the parking lot. It felt very vacant under these grim clouds hanging low. I feared it might rain.


    I never understood supermarkets. Why weren¡¯t there glass windows in there? Instead, these weird white lights, shining all over the place. It looks like a clear nightmare, with infinite rows of shelves while people are mindlessly consuming, and consuming. Supermarkets were one of my recurrent nightmares. Just looks like a frame outta Hitchcock¡¯s movies, with that disturbing zoom. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before the supermarket¡¯s automatic door, and ultimately entered accompanied by Kim. Fortunately, it was quite lively in there, not quite bustling with people, but at least they seemed fine and even happy.


    So, we strolled for two hours or so across the limitless shelves, trying to find all the things that the house lacked. And boy, the house did lack a lot of stuff; towels, soap, shampoo, teeth brushes, toothpaste (these are the only ones I remembered her listing)¡ªunto the kitchen; napkins, potatoes, steak, bacon, chicken, carrots, pumpkins, pasta, beans, eggs, butter, corn flakes, oat, milk, juices, flour, yeast, oil, salt, sugar, spices, yogurt, ice-cream, bananas, apples, pears, apricot, grapes, and all the things at the bottom of the cart¡­ I felt overwhelmed when I saw them spilling from the cart; actually, we, or rather, I, had to fetch another one. At some point, she bought a flower to replace the one in the living room while I took a fine bottle of rum.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re still underage!¡± she scolded. ¡°What if you get caught?¡±


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t worry. They never actually check ID for these things, and I look old enough, don¡¯t I?¡± I joked.


    ¡°Yeah, like some drunk and dirty old man,¡± she sharply replied. I shut my mouth and put it in the cart.


    I thought she nearly bought all the things in the supermarket and feared the wad of bills I took wouldn¡¯t be enough. By the time we got to one of the cashiers, the second cart filled up to its brink too; I could see despair in the eyes of the woman as she scanned the pile of endless items before her. Without saying, she didn¡¯t even notice the bottle of rum; I smirked a bit at Kim. She just hmpfed again. The woman hit the bottom when she had to put all these inside bags, a dozen or so, large ones; y¡¯know, the kind you¡¯d reuse. After twenty minutes¡ªno kidding, I closely watched my phone¡¯s clock¡ªthe woman sighed once and for all as she finished her painful and tedious task. I gave her the wad of bills, and after agreeing that it was enough, I left her the change for due payment.


    I, myself, was about to face a same painful and tedious task: carrying all the bags. Kim help very little, but she still grabbed two of them; I could tell that she was willing to, at least. I didn¡¯t ask more and carried them all with the same carts to the car, messily stuck them in the trunk, started the engine, and drove back to the house. She placidly admired the world passing by her window as the heavy clouds were invariantly staying in the scenery. She¡¯d stopped listing the things we lacked. Under daylight, or rather, cloudlight, I could see the hill more properly than the previous night; the omnipresent grass wasn¡¯t quite green, or dry, somewhere between the two. In a word, dull. But the remaining green did glare in a curious manner, as though it could sense the promise of rain.


    When we got back to the house, it was very dim, very heavy. The clouds were pitch-black but tried somehow to retain the imminent rain everybody expected. The few lights filtering through them seemed like a pure, immaculate, white in contrast, as though someone had clumsily tried to erase the scenery but merely achieved to reduce its opacity. Kim carried the same two bags, and after going back and forth for god knows how many times, all the bags mightily stacked into a mountain in a corner of the kitchen. This time, she was much more helpful, and as storing the groceries, she ordered me around where to put this or that. It didn¡¯t take the exaggerated time I thought of for us to tidy up everything. The mighty mountains of full bags became a small building of hollow plastic neatly arranged; we¡¯d never lack bags, I thought.


    The already dark clouds turned crimson as the sun sank deep into the horizon. It grew heavier, and dimer.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you start making dinner?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Guess so,¡± she simply replied.


    She put on the apron and started chopping some vegetables. Her slender fingers were rather skillful, even someone who didn¡¯t cook at all like me could tell. I watched her pretty fingers for a while, before taking out the bottle of rum and sipping a bit from a glass. She slightly cringed while smelling the alcohol evaporating in the air. I carried on watching her, sitting on the lone and small table of the kitchen while intoxicating myself. She looked good in that apron, very docile and yet mesmerizingly languid, and full of will. The murky glow irradiated by the kitchen¡¯s bulb made her short hair glow golden; it was soothing for some reason. Or maybe I was just getting drunk.


    ¡°You look just like a good wife. Yep, you¡¯d definitely make a good wifey,¡± I jokingly blurted out, half drunk.


    ¡°¡­Who¡¯d take a bride with bruises and scars like mine?¡± she whispered mindlessly.


    ¡°I would,¡± I replied all loud.


    ¡°¡­What are you saying now?¡± she mouthed, all focused on cooking and not so mindlessly.


    ¡°And with you as my wife, I¡¯d be able to see your nice thighs every day,¡± I joked again, definitely more or less drunk.


    ¡°Cut it off,¡± she mildly hissed as carrying on making the dinner. ¡°You¡¯re just being a creep now¡ªor you drunk? Gosh, do something!¡ªgo get some olive leaves for tea instead of getting drunk,¡± she ordered.


    I laughed a bit but she didn¡¯t. Rather, she deliberately carried on cooking. I sighed and got out to take what she asked. In my not-so sober state, I gazed a little bit at the olive tree from the porch; swaying under grim winds, it stood alone there, under a merciless and grave sky about to purge the world down here. The clouds, which I first mistook for the nightly sky, were somber than ever, closer than ever. Veiling the stars, they ignited from time to time with blank thunders running rampant in their own guts up there. At last, they couldn¡¯t take it anymore; something broke, and the world was covered with a deathly rain in an instant.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The momentum of the drizzles was such that the strong winds could barely change their trajectories; it fell dead straight to the ground. It just sounded like someone played white noises awfully loud; yet, the ripples on puddles weren¡¯t dissonant. As though an antic mathematician was drawing upon liquids¡¯ surfaces, their dynamical geometries proved to be almost divine. I kinda understood cats while I ran in the rain; rain might¡¯ve hated me, hated cats, hated everyone and everything. The rain was stabbing me with thousands of formless needles which nonetheless struck me.


    I ran to the olive tree as its scent blended with the ground¡¯s. As fast as the rain was drumming, I took one of its branches, about my forearms length, and partially sheltered beneath its remaining leaves, I lost hope; the porch seemed so far under this cruel rain. I felt at large while the blurred light of the house¡¯s windows were those of a so distant beacon. I ran back cowering like a bug. The sound of the door closing seemed so nice in comparison to outside and even just receiving light warmed me up¡ªor maybe the bulbs were overheating? I left traces on the floor before arriving in the kitchen.


    While I was soaked to the bones, Kim was peacefully reading one of her books, seated where I was earlier, and waiting for the meal on the stove. She looked at me as if to say ¡®Oh, it¡¯s you¡¯, just in her usual monotonous voice. My rum was nowhere to be seen though.


    ¡°Where did you put my bottle?¡± I asked like a child.


    ¡°NO MORE ALCOHOL FOR YOU,¡± she said as reading.


    ¡°Come on, I need it. I gotta warm myself up¡ªsee how I¡¯m soaked like a stray dog?¡±


    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re soaked¡ªat least it sobered you up,¡± she replied. ¡°Go take a shower or something. The dinner won¡¯t be ready for a while too.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± I sighed. ¡°Here are the leaves you asked for.¡±


    ¡°Put them on the counter,¡± she ordered again. ¡°And thank you,¡± she whispered.


    At last some gratitude. Again trailing rainwater on the floor, I went for the counter and put them there. Kim frowned at me; she even stopped reading. ¡®You¡¯re dirtying the floor,¡¯ her eyes said, as coldly. I quickly got out of the kitchen while leaving another trail. Maybe I should take a shower as she suggested, I thought. It sounded more like an order though, so I did take a shower. In contrary to the rain, the shower seemed to love me; it felt really good. All the remaining traces of alcohol in me vanished within the warm gushing water. The bathroom filled with steam by the time I finished. I grabbed one of the towels we bought earlier and went for clothes in my room.


    But rain prevailed over everywhere. I cursed at the house; it was very badly conditioned and I could even feel the wind blowing from outside. Good enough nothing leaked. I got chills of course after so much time hugged by the shower. I dried up in less than a minute and hurriedly put on some clothes fitted to be pajamas. By the time I got down the stairs, the dinner was ready and Kim was already waiting for me at the living room¡¯s table. Meanwhile, she changed the dead flower in the vase, but like with the first one, I couldn¡¯t recognize it. She also changed into her deep purple pajamas, but invariantly read the same book.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re not the one who had to run under that murderous rain,¡± I replied back.


    She ignored me and continued waiting for me to sit down before her. She made a stew, just the perfect meal for the weather. It smelled really good; again, I couldn¡¯t describe it, but I liked it anyway. The beef in it was perfectly cooked to a point it melted in your mouth with the mashed vegetables. I smiled for all the dinner while she stared at me from time to time as blowing on her spoon. She¡¯d make a perfect wife, I thought. I asked her for another plate, which she brought very rapidly before eating her own. I ended up taking a third; of course, I was full by the end of the dinner. While I stared at the bulb shining low above the table, she took our two empty plates and began to wash them.


    I liked that sound, it was more talkative than me. At last, she turned off the sink and I heard her put something on the stove. What I guessed to be the thing on the stove whistled at some point; then, the spellbinding scent of olive drenched the whole house like the rain-drenched the whole world outside. Kim went back in the living room with two mugs and a kettle, hot since a veil of steam traveled to the bulb¡¯s height. She quietly gave me one of the mugs and served me some tea. It was drinkable despite the temperature. It tasted just like the scent, very good and mesmerizing; I was swallowing liquid perfume, and it wasn¡¯t just alcohol like in any other fragrance.


    Under another murky light, she was reading Rimbaud, only stopping every once in a while to sip a bit from the tea. And again, she seemed very docile. Drowsiness invaded me after seeing her in such a lethargic-like state. The olive scent didn¡¯t help in waking me up, it just made me sleepier. On her side, I noticed she always looked sleepy, but contrary to her napping face, there was something sharp in her eyes. I got accustomed to the blank noise of the rain; the paper scraping against paper was the only other sound I noticed. She turned a few pages, skipping some poems from time to time and going back and forth amid the lyrical verses.


    ¡°You like Rimbaud?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s a funny guy,¡± she replied as resigning from a conversation.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need a dictionary?¡± I asked again.


    ¡°I¡¯m good enough at French,¡± she replied as again resigning on a conversation.


    ¡°What¡¯re you reading?¡±


    ¡°Le dormeur du val,¡± it sounded like gibberish to me.


    ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡±


    ¡°A young soldier dying in a valley,¡± Rimbaud a funny guy, huh?


    She resigned on the conversation.


    ¡°How come you love French poetry so much?¡±


    ¡°¡­These books belonged to my father,¡± she replied before continuing this time, ¡°y¡¯know, the one who went nuts and almost killed me. Well, he wasn¡¯t all that bad. He used to read me a poem a day before sleeping, and he¡¯d give its translation. That was the one thing good about him, he taught French here and there. I loved him for that. But he was a simple man overall, and there ultimately was only one thing bad too about him; drugs. I hated him for that. Why not remember the good stuff then if there¡¯s the same amount of bad stuff?¡± she frowned a little and realized she¡¯d talked too much. She closed the book at once with both her hands, ¡°Guess we should sleep already,¡± she said.


    ¡°Your room¡¯s the one where I put your things. Mine¡¯s the one at the end of the hallway,¡± I told her. ¡°Call me if you need.¡±


    She got up, grabbed the book, and I followed her up the stairs. From the hallway, she silently walked to her room and closed the door as I watched her. After a few seconds, she opened it again and poked out her round glasses.


    ¡°Huh¡­ good night,¡± she gently said.


    ¡°Yeah, sleep tight, good night,¡± I replied back after a pause.


    The door clicked while the rain¡¯s blank noise carried on. So, I went to my own room and closed its door too. The feeling of void hadn¡¯t left the room; actually, it felt more hollow. There was only a bed and that desk in it anyway. Only the striking thunder lit the walls from time to time; since I was about to sleep, I didn¡¯t bother with turning on the switch. I got in the bed and remembered how cold it was in that house. Especially at night and under the blowing winds. The blanket helped little. Kept awake by the chills, I stared at the ceiling for another while; I wondered how Kim was managing with the cold. She looked so delicate that she could¡¯ve frozen under the rain, literally, like an iced-up statue. I thought back about her napping face; she didn¡¯t look like an iced-up statue, rather, she looked very humane and alive, like some sort of doll made out of flesh and blood. Only something wasn¡¯t there, I didn¡¯t know what. I closed my eyes then and slept for a while.

 V.

    Next morning, I was woken up by a kick in the back. I turned around and met with Kim¡¯s eyes; she didn¡¯t even bother to hide the fact that she was the one who attacked me. Her leg was still up in the air. She looked unfazed and didn¡¯t care the slightest to have kicked me.


    ¡°How many days left?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Good morning to you too,¡± I replied back, she just frowned. ¡°Five with today.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I wanna swim,¡± she indifferently said without minding the little time that remained me.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Swimming,¡± she repeated. ¡°Let¡¯s go down the hill and swim.¡±


    ¡°You brought your swimsuit?¡±


    ¡°We can buy one in town. Hurry up¡ªthe weather¡¯s good.¡±


    I looked out from the window; its frame delimited the infinite blue of the sky. The rain really washed away all the bad things, and it left a magnificent sky too. No clouds were to be seen. The sun rays surging into the dull room were hot, like straight outta a hellish summer day; I passed my hand under them and it sure burned. There even were cicadas loudly singing and the small stripe of sand visible from my room seemed very dry. The white reverberation of the walls of my dull room blinded me a bit. And there stood Kim with her brilliant deep purple pajama because of the morning light, wanting for a swim and ready to give me another kick.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go down in town,¡± I announced.


    She got out of the room for changing clothes and I rapidly did the same. I grabbed another wad of bills from the plastic bag and went down the stairs. The house was flooded by the sun¡¯s bright, dazzling and hot waves; she was already waiting for me before the dining table with a full breakfast. She was probably awake since a while before me given the hot kettle of tea, the buttered and jammed slices of bread, the opened up box of corn flex, the warm bowls of milk, and the neatly arranged plate of fruit. It looked like a still-life, but under such a vibrant light, it was more alive than still. I happily sat before her and cleared everything on the table. The weather was happy, I was happy, Kim might¡¯ve been happy since she hummed a bit for the breakfast. Because of my joy, and the temperature, I was very much looking forward to swimming.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get going already,¡± I happily blurted out.


    ¡°What about brushing your teeth first?¡± she remarked.


    Yeah, brushing my teeth. I rushed up the stairs, got in the bathroom, took the toothbrush which we agreed was mine, poured a big chunk of toothpaste out of hurry, and wildly brushed my teeth. Kim sighed by the bathroom¡¯s doorframe as seeing my haste; she grabbed her own toothbrush and soon enough brushed her teeth at a much slower pace. Her hairs glowed golden under that one beam of sun gushing from that tiny, high, unique window. It wasn¡¯t blinding at least. I finished before her and waited for her as usual before at the car¡¯s bumper.


    It was deathly hot outside; the air was evaporating and bent light in such a way that you could tell it was burning. My ass burned a bit as sitting on the bumper; I went to hide from the sun underneath the olive tree. And again due to the heat, the scent wasn¡¯t as strong. It was the scent of salt that reigned supreme, coming from the vaporizing sea¡¯s wind. The sand was definitely dry, craving for being cooled down by the invariant blue sea. In contrast, the sea was divinely calm, as though not even a single ripple was upon it. There was salty wind, sure, but the sea was definitively tranquil and composed. Just like Kim, I thought.


    Lupus in fabulat, speaking of the devil, she showed up soon enough with another hoodie and her tights. Even under that lethal heat, she could casually wear such clothes.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you melting under that?¡± I said as pointing at her hoodie.


    ¡°Sparing the world from seeing my bruises comes with a cost,¡± she cynically replied.


    ¡°Come on, who cares about that! We definitely have to buy you a nice dress¡ªit¡¯s just perfect for this weather. And I wanna see your thighs too, y¡¯know!¡± I joked.


    ¡°Creep,¡± she scornfully added. ¡°We¡¯re just going to town for a swimsuit, and I guess some sun cream too.¡±


    I sighed as opening her door; instantly, a tyrannizing heatwave burst out of the car. Damn, it was an oven in there. Opening the windows just worsened things¡ªlight could enter more properly in. Kim wore a sore face for the rest of the trip; I tried convincing her to remove her hoodie three times in total, but she wouldn¡¯t listen at all. Aloofly, she pouted at the heat by her window while I squinted too many times under the raging sun. The world outside was drying up, with only too many vain illusions of water upon the roads drying up as rapidly. At some point, she sneezed out of nowhere; maybe it was because of the dust rising in the boiling air and entering through the uselessly opened windows. It made me cough for some time too.


    She had a better memory than me given how she perfectly remembered that there was a small clothes store around the way we drove by to the supermarket. The car¡¯s roof was about to roast again for all the time we¡¯d spend in that store; I parked it with that despairing thought in mind. We both sighed out of relief as entering under the large fans cooling down the store; their sound bugged me a little though, just like hearing cicadas from too near. It sounded old, dusty, and rusty. The employee working by the counter seemed very bored and was staring mindlessly, or I guessed thinking about the burning outer lands, at the big fans. Rows of fabric were neatly arranged in that narrow space, while light could barely reach the furthest ones.


    We wandered a bit in the store; unfortunately, it wasn¡¯t Kim interested in fashion, but we were just trying to find the swimsuits. I thought the guy at the counter was the only employee around. After a few minutes, she was standing before a row of swimsuits only asking to be rummaged through; I felt a little bit embarrassed while she was picking out one, so I ended up staring at the fans too. And I got bored as well, so I ended up looking at the swimsuits again, cautiously, while trying to imagine her in the ones I liked; of course, these would remain my fantasies, but I hoped somewhere, she¡¯d put one. Hell, her choice was awful; even only seeing a glimpse of it, it definitely was awful. Even just the color was awfully bland, just plain black.


    I cursed under my breath at her pick, but whatever, I didn¡¯t have a word anyway. I casually looked around as though I¡¯d seen nothing of an awful choice. She made up her mind and grabbed my hand before making me keep watch before the changing booth.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t let anyone see,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I mindlessly replied.


    ¡°And that includes you,¡± she sharply added. ¡°If I see you peeping, I¡¯ll go to the nearest police station, and we both know I¡¯m not a murderer,¡± that sounded terribly cold, but she wouldn¡¯t, would she?


    Let¡¯s not wander our eyes around, I thought as she closed the curtain. I stared once more at the fans. I could hear her taking off her clothes by the sound of fabric moving and falling on the floor. I stared harder at the fans. At some point, she poked out her hand from behind the drape and pulled me in. It was proportionately as narrow as the store; the dirty mirror in there hardly fitted on the walls. Without saying, I was just dozens of inches away from her at best. And her face was closer than that, straight meeting with mine and peering at my eyes. Her breath had her same scent and filled the whole booth. She was just frailly looking straight into my eyes.


    Below, it was a much less lovely view; it was like she borrowed her swimsuit from an old diver. It just covered all her skin, from the shoulders to the forearms, from the waist to the ankles. It looked even worn-out and the plain black was turning grayish. Reflecting very well in the dirty mirror, it was only awful.


    ¡°How is it?¡± in the tightness of the booth, her voice echoed in whispers.


    ¡°Kim, I¡¯m gonna be honest,¡± I gulped a bit. ¡°It looks awful, sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t care anyway,¡± she replied as bringing down her gaze away from my eyes.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t say that! There are plenty of other swimsuits out there that¡¯ll suit you wonderfully.¡±


    She turned back at the mirror and looked at herself again; I was hoping she was realizing that she could look good after all.


    ¡°¡­You pick then,¡± she mumbled over her shoulder.


    ¡®Come again?¡¯ was the next thing I wanted to reply, but I wasn¡¯t about to spoil that chance given with both hands; she¡¯d surely take back her offer. From the dirty mirror¡¯s reflection, she looked at me over her shoulder as if to say ¡®I won¡¯t say it twice¡¯. I got out of the booth and gladly ransacked through the remaining swimsuits. At last, my eyes couldn¡¯t take off of one of them. We¡¯ll get to that later¡ªbut for now¡ªit wasn¡¯t as revealing as in my dirty thoughts since she¡¯d hate me for sure for that (even if it did reveal her thighs). Rather, I found it even more suitable to her than any other suggestive swimsuit, and I loved that.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    So, I went back to the booth and handed her over the one I picked; oh boy, when she poked out her hand, the awful swimsuit¡¯s fabric was nowhere to be seen on her skin. She was most likely naked behind that curtain. I felt uneasy as cursing my lewd mind. Maybe because of the embarrassment, her fingers touching my hand startled me a bit. I heard her changing clothes again. Soon enough, she dragged my hand inside the booth.


    Coyly comforting herself as running her right hand on the other arm, she was lowering her head in her one-piece swimsuit. I think I have a taste for the 50¡¯s aesthetic; it looked just outta one of these antic beach movies. The dirty mirror struggled to fully reflect the might of the gleaming canary yellow. There were some thin stripes on it, kissing and displaying very lovingly the curves beneath; being a bit taller than her, I could clearly see the vale between her breasts, peeking from the swimsuit¡¯s stop around her armpits. Without saying, her soft thighs showed too. And here and there, there were her bruises.


    What I¡¯d seen was only a small portion of the atrocities that had been done to her. The bruises reflected no light, and covering most of her body, it might¡¯ve been an integral aspect of her being. Hurt and wounded. There were other scars sprinkled across her skin, burns and wounds, some older than others. And she was still standing somehow, in that wonderful swimsuit, without even showing pain on her face or concern. She was just waiting for me to say something.


    ¡°Well, how is it now¡­? Awful, right¡­?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re beautiful,¡± I said at once. ¡°¡­And cute too, I guess,¡± I added in a whisper.


    ¡°¡­NO, LIAR!¡± she shouted as recoiling. ¡°No one to see my bruises. I¡¯m ugly, UGLY, an UNPLEASANT girl with DISGUSTING bruises. SAY IT PLEASE! Tell me I¡¯m SICKENING¡ªtell me no one wants to SEE me¡ªtell me I SHOULD disappear. I DON¡¯T WANT THEM TO SEE HOW DISGUSTING I AM. I WANT TO DISAPPEAR, PLEASE¡­ I JUST WANT TO DISAPPEAR WITH THESE BRUISES¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t weep. She was curling up like a ball, cradling her face in her knees in that narrow space. And she didn¡¯t shout further during her small outburst. Her voice was a murmur, almost mute, slowly disappearing, like she¡¯d wanted, into nothingness. But the bruises remained. She remained. I felt like she would really disappear any moment, just spontaneously. I leaned down next to her and for some reason, I put my arms around her. She kept wishing to disappear.


    ¡°Kim, even with your bruises, I still find you beautiful. Look at the mirror¡ªI only see a lovely and cute girl ready to swim. So you shouldn¡¯t say things like you want to disappear, how could such a beautiful girl disappear? How could the Kim I find so beautiful disappear? There¡¯s no more ¡®them¡¯ to tell you to disappear, there¡¯s only me telling you you¡¯re beautiful. There¡¯s no more ¡®them¡¯ who don¡¯t want to see you, there¡¯s only me who is only waiting for you to get out of this booth so I can see you having fun at the beach, while I¡¯ll carry on saying how beautiful you are in my mind as I¡¯d watch you. And y¡¯know what¡ªif I were lying, I wouldn¡¯t have chosen that swimsuits for you and bore with the awful one, or would¡¯ve said that we have to buy you a nice dress, or said I wanted to see your nice thighs¡ªyour beautiful thighs.¡±


    ¡°¡­Alright, I get it,¡± she muttered after gazing at me throughout the entire tirade. ¡°It¡¯s just embarrassing now¡­ And you sounded like a creep around the end,¡± she hissed as her voice livened up. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll take this swimsuit then,¡± she muttered again.


    She tore away from my arms and got up to take a look at the mirror. Somehow, the reflection in it, even though stained by the filth on its surface, seemed to please Kim a bit more. She marveled at her image for a while, puzzled and a bit uncertain. But something in her eyes shone a bit amid the narrow dimness of the booth.


    ¡°¡­Would you mind picking a dress for me, please?¡± her voice was not only soft, but for the first time, it seemed kind (not that I found her mean anyway).


    She smiled a bit with her request. Soon enough, her unusual kindness collapsed as she pushed me out; I didn¡¯t even have the time to smile back. Where are the dresses now? I thought. I strolled a bit but they were nowhere to be seen. Desperation hit me while realizing there might be none. Atop the rows of fabric, I still could see the same cashier dumbly staring at the fans; I didn¡¯t want to ask him where the dresses were, he seemed too lazy anyway. I carried on, not for a while, but enough to possibly make Kim worry. They were just at the front row; the cashier livened up a bit from his torpid as watching a fool picking a dress. His eyes seemed like sneering and making fun of my every choice.


    The front row was the place where sunlight and the narrow dimness came into separation. They were ¡®proper sun rays¡¯, y¡¯know, just a clear stripe which didn¡¯t spill light but contained itself. The cloth of the dresses was already heated up from the rays, and my hands warmed a bit while delving through them. At some point, something brighter came in my sight, a blank bright, uniformly dotted with red. It seemed cheap, or rather, it was plain simple. But there was something almost dreamlike with its plainness, as though I¡¯d already seen it in some world. Vibrant. That¡¯s the first thing that came to my mind. Of course, the cashier disapproved my choice, but I knew it would suit her somehow. He frowned his eyes and resumed his futile, idiotic gawking.


    I went back to the booth and handed over the dress. I could almost hear ¡®Took you long enough,¡¯ from the (almost-)harsh way of her grasp.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I rather heard, indiscernibly, escaping from behind the curtain.


    I waited a bit while staring harder and harder at the fans. She took quite a while this time; I hoped she was gaining confidence from watching her reflection. Then she tucked the bottom of my t-shirt, very feebly, without trying to tug me in. There was some hesitation in her movement, or maybe embarrassment, or more likely both. Her hand stayed tucked on my t-shirt, hanging, and secretly trying to not lose grip acted upon by an unknown force. She hid her resolve somewhere in that hold. I slipped under the curtain as soon as I understood that. And as soon as I was in, she covered both my eyes with her warm hands. Maybe I could¡¯ve taken a glance, but I deliberately closed my eyes. She was trying to hide anyway.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m gonna remove my hands, okay?... Tell me how it is then¡­¡±


    But she didn¡¯t immediately remove her hands. She was somehow reluctant, not by her own will, but because of the same unknown force. I raised my own hands towards her wrists before patting her soft skin. She gradually let loose and then her hands dropped at once, while my owns slid from her wrists to her palms in the fall. She held my fingers for some reason. It felt warm and got warmer and warmer. And she seemed straight outta a blurry dream with that surreal dress. The latter was very aerial, not something weightless or light, but as if it belonged to the sky, as radiant as the sky; the red dots on it, however, were very alien, shapeless and yet visibly round, confined unto circles and yet leaking god knows where. Her bruises were invisible compared to the dots


    Meanwhile, the mirror behind her reverberated a fuzzy-like, awfully brilliant glow. Her eyes dived into mines, hoping to find some untold comforting words. And I just kept quiet. Dunno why, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to say something. She violently took back her hands and brought them to her breast; she wanted to hide, to disappear again. Something faded away in her sudden drive, something warm, and not only my fingers. Her mouth ruthlessly arched down from contempt. That disdainful inverted U might¡¯ve been the only thing on her face with her frowning brows.


    ¡°GET OUT! GET OUT!¡± she repeated as pushing me.


    Well, she barely pushed me but her fists couldn¡¯t stop beating my chest. But she not even meant to hurt, it was just like how you¡¯d chase away a stray dog, without the ¡®Shoo, shoo!¡¯ though. She carried on and the ritardando beatings slowly came to stop. After the last fist into my torso, she thrust her face into my chest and hid. I brought my hands to her shoulder.


    ¡°DON¡¯T TOUCH ME!¡± she hissed. ¡°¡­No, I¡¯m very sorry, please¡­ Could you hug me?¡± she whispered after a while.


    So I hugged her while she still hid her face. But she didn¡¯t weep.


    ¡°¡­Why didn¡¯t you say something, dummy?¡± her voice was almost mute.


    ¡°I dunno. I¡¯m very sorry too, Kim. I guess I didn¡¯t know what to say¡­ You are very beautiful in that dress. And cute¡ªand pretty¡­¡± I stumbled.


    ¡°Really? How beautiful?¡± she asked back.


    ¡°The most beautiful woman in town,¡± I slightly joked. ¡°You¡¯re more beautiful than you were already, fine?¡±


    ¡°Liar,¡± she lightly replied while finally pulling away from my chest. ¡°But I¡¯d like you to lie again like that sometime,¡± she softly added.


    ¡°Any time. So, you like the dress?¡±


    ¡°Kinda. You think I could go out in this? I don¡¯t wanna cause you trouble too.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t, don¡¯t worry ¡®bout that. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are anyway.¡±


    Kim looked back at the mirror again, uncertain like earlier. Again, she looked at me over her shoulder. So she closed her eyes, exhaled once to purge her being, took her other clothes in one hand, my hand with the other, and landed a foot outside of the booth. She struggled to bring one foot after the other, but with each step, she seemed more and more self-assured. I obediently followed her while she tugged my hand. Without saying, the cashier looked very surprised as seeing Kim¡¯s arms and legs, but he said nothing and just carried on his job like always. He threw too many glances at Kim to be called rude, but she tried to not care. Maybe he was just trying to help a beaten woman. I took out some money to pay for the swimsuit and the dress, and the cashier tucked them in a bag.


    Then she remembered to buy some sun cream and left me alone with the cashier for finding a bottle. He stared at me like some shit who beat women.


    ¡°Fuck, I¡¯m gonna call the police on you,¡± he threatened.


    ¡°Hey, I did nothing. If it¡¯s her bruises, it¡¯s her parents who did that. Call the police on them if you want,¡± I shouldn¡¯t probably have said that.


    ¡°No shit,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Seriously, do I look like an asshole?¡±


    ¡°The worsts don¡¯t need to look like an asshole,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Ask her then,¡± I defiantly retorted.


    He hissed and we both waited for ¡®her¡¯. She came back with a small bottle of sun cream in her hand and handed it over to the cashier. I gave him some money for it and he tucked the bottle in the same bag. At last, when I took the bag, he whispered something into Kim¡¯s ear. She looked a bit surprised at first and frowned a bit around the end. Then, she slapped the cashier; the sole clapping sound laughably resonated well in the narrow store. He patted his wounded cheek with some surprise.


    ¡°HE¡¯D NEVER DO THAT,¡± Kim said in her usual sharp tone.


    Without even waiting for me, she got out of the store like an offended, aloof queen with the bag.


    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful, isn¡¯t she?¡± I told the cashier as going out.

 VI.

    By the time I got out, Kim was already bathing under the sun, amid the boiling, yet dry air. She didn¡¯t seem to mind the heat the slightest; swayed by the waves of a vehement sun, she seemed lulled by freedom itself. If she wasn¡¯t so pessimistic about salvation, it might¡¯ve been the start of it. Her golden hair gently brushed under a salty wind coming from the not-so far away sea, while her dress dazzled an unreal light which floated like her skirt into the corners of noon. Well, not quite so, but it might¡¯ve been around the time when you¡¯d think on starting to make lunch. She was closing her eyes, as though greedily eating every gust of wind in fear that another instant like that one would never occur again so that the feeling would remain forever on her bruised skin. I took some time to feel and ¡®eat the wind¡¯.


    Guess I was wrong since the oven that was the car cooled down a bit; my ass didn¡¯t feel assaulted when it sat on the hot-looking fabric of the front seat. Kim threw the bag in the back seat and put on her belt before opening wide open her window. I started the engine and soon enough, we were still seeing too many vain illusions of water. As blue as the sky was, it felt infinitely high and expanding, with still no cloud up there. The sun might¡¯ve killed all the remaining clouds, banishing them into invisible fumes and reigning supreme upon the invariant blue. Around the hill, the cicadas were deafening; it was so loud I couldn¡¯t hear my mind. And the grass wasn¡¯t even dry, on contrary, it seemed to have sucked up enough amount of dew before dawn to live for an eternity. Their gleaming green was a flea to the hill.


    Kim went out of the car with the bag, and I headed to my room to change into my swimming trunks. Kinda weird that I took it, but maybe it was just me that I couldn¡¯t properly tidy my clothes in a closet. It felt great when I cooled down after removing my t-shirt; I dumbly spaced out a bit while chest naked. I folded my clothes and went for a towel in the bathroom. Then I knocked on her door to check if she was ready. Even if she said nothing, I could hear that she wasn¡¯t ready and that I should definitely not open, or else a criminal will be handed to justice. The lock clicked and she got out in the same unreal dress, with her other clothes too, the sun scream, and a blank sheet. She asked me to grab her towel, and soon enough, we were going down the hill opposite way to the town.


    The damp grass gradually became dry sand while breezes blew stronger as we got down. I could hear not even a single wave beating the wet sand, rather, the sea was awfully calm. Just a clean blue stripe escaping into the world¡¯s end. And the projection of the cruel sun seemed even more still than an image while not vapor seemed to run away from the water. My feet burned above the sand which might¡¯ve turned into glass, liquid glass. Kim stood before me, and before the boundless azure of the sea and the sky, she seemed to belong there with her unreal and aerial dress. While its simple fabric drifted again to the blowing wind in such a way that it almost blurred, I placed down the blank sheet and sat down. She stood up for some time while I squinted under the blinding light emanating from the white of the sheet.


    Her dress continued to puff from the saline winds, so much I thought she¡¯d start to fly. Her feet stayed anchored to the sand, and so did the sheet. Unable to disappear from the earth by floating, she came to sit down next to me. She removed her dress and her round glasses, while I tried to look away, and revealed a canary yellow which shone as soon as it showed to the sun. Amid this vibrant scenery, her bruises still reflected no light. She started rubbing sun cream on her skin, and between two rubs, she handed me the bottle.


    ¡°You should use some,¡± she advised. ¡°The sun¡¯s beating hard.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Come on.¡±


    ¡°I told ya I¡¯d be fine.¡±


    ¡°¡­Don¡¯t come wailing at me then if you got sunburns,¡± she replied after staring at me like a fool.


    I ran into the sea ¡®til I¡¯d fall; it still was shallow though, maybe I had just not enough strength to counter water¡¯s resistance. Indifferent as it was, the sea was still quite warm. If it wasn¡¯t for the stinging sensation in the eyes, I would¡¯ve opened my eyes to see through the cleanness. A clear, polished, crystal traversed by infinite rays of light. I could see the sand at the bottom forming fractal-like, regular shapes belonging in-between dimensions. Kim¡¯s swimsuit was more yellow than the sand while she timidly dipped her feet where the waves should¡¯ve broken. I grasped her hand and pushed the two of us into the azure of the sea. First thing she did as shaking the water out of her golden hair was to say ¡®Dummy!¡¯, more like an insult than cutely. But then, she shoved some more water in my face, and we did that back and forth for a while. Her hairs scattered while getting wet.


    She got bored and threw a last gust of water at me before swimming away elsewhere to end that eternal return. I got bored as well, and as every bored kid would do in a pool, I drifted on my back while looking at the sky. The sun looked like a poked hole in the blue paper of the sky. Kim came back to me like a curious cat, and staring at me from above, she hid the poked hole with her head. Some sun rays still philtered through her golden-glowing hair.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± she interestedly asked.


    ¡°Drifting away,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Is it fun?¡±


    ¡°The sky is just awfully blue. But wanna try then?¡±


    She shrugged a bit and floated on her back. I grabbed her hand and without saying, we didn¡¯t move a bit with such an indifferent sea.


    ¡°We really have to hold hands?¡± she casually said.


    ¡°If we really do drift away, I¡¯d want you to come with me.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s so,¡± she muttered. ¡°I guess I¡¯d want too,¡± even if it already was a whisper, her voice felt distant and blurry while my ears were dousing in water.


    The sky was invariantly indigo. Every sound became a murmur, and vanished within the depth of the sea. Kim¡¯s hand felt warmer than the water. Instead of us, it was the sun which drifted away amid the other blue of the sky; guess we just floated, only face out of water for a while. But we got bored again and she pulled me nearer to the beach while still holding hands. Then she sat by the bank and started molding shapeless shapes with the soggy sand. Salty water ran down on every part of her body; now that she was out, her lovely curves seemed more detailed under the tightening soaked fabric of her swimsuit. Sand stuck on her skin and seemed like shining stars in the space of her bruises.


    Soon enough, we went back to the house; the heat reached its peak while we climbed up the hill. I felt like the sun hated me and tried to punish me somehow. Even with her aerial dress, Kim¡¯s forehead gleamed under the hateful rays of light. I didn¡¯t put back my t-shirt, but that might¡¯ve been a mistake since I could hear the salt of the sea crackling behind my back, roasting like a nice piece of chicken in an oven. Resting my face on the cold table in the living room was heaven. She brought some ice cream straight outta the fridge while my warmth transmitted to the table. I gasped a bit when she took the ice cream to my naked back; I backed off and her eyes were satisfied for some reason.


    It was quite late in the noon, and Kim didn¡¯t feel like cooking anymore. I guessed the ice cream would be our lunch then, ¡®cause I don¡¯t know how to cook either. She handed me a spoon and started digging in the green, mint-flavored pack. The sound of breaking ice didn¡¯t belong in that day. Between two scoops, she¡¯d look out from a window to watch an invariantly blue scenery. Still no clouds, or a ripple on the water. The taste of mint was quite cheap in my mouth, but she didn¡¯t seem to dislike it. In our usual silence, the cicadas were still more talkative than us. Her scent wasn¡¯t hers, but the lingering traces of salt, spreading across the living room.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Let¡¯s stroll a bit after eating,¡± she casually blurted with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.


    When only melted green milk was at the bottom of the pack, Kim threw the empty box in the kitchen¡¯s trashcan. She turned on the sink and filled a glass of tap water before giving me another one. I drank it straight. We went out then and went down the hill; the heat stubbornly stayed around the same temperature, but the sun rays died down a bit. Wind was still puffing up the bottom of her dress but it wasn¡¯t as bright. She stopped in the middle of the beach and wondered where to go; her feet landed north and I followed her. That place was really vacant, no one, no parasols, only half-boundless sand, and rising breezes. Sand scattered before our feet.


    We reached one of these rocky beaches, with loads and loads of dark stones filled with holes in them. There was almost no sand, just in the interstices, or far from the stones. Her bruises looked like them, but darker. Her figure didn¡¯t fit in that place; the contrast between the white of her dress and the somber rocks was too great. She jumped across the stones for a while; her dress seemed to slow down her fall between her futile hops. She found something funny in them. Meanwhile, I observed the lurking crabs and barnacles cowering in their holes, looking at me like some demon looking out from the cracks of the floor or from an underground.


    Her pace accelerated, more and more hops, to a point where she seemed to dance to a fast rhythm. It was going 1-2-3/1-2 (5/4), in accelerando. As soon as her toes landed on the cobble, her other foot reached for another and repeated faster and faster. She slipped on a wet rock at some point, but her dress didn¡¯t stop her fall; fortunately enough I wasn¡¯t far from her, so I managed to grasp her. Her dress puffed out air as falling in my arms. It wouldn¡¯t have been that bad if she fell, but still, adding another bruise to her might harm her more than in reality.


    She stood up from my arms as soon as she landed in them, and instead sat on one of the rocks as if nothing happened. I stared at her ungratefulness and sighed. A very feeble ¡®thank you¡¯ escaped her mouth, before she resumed staring at the water. As she stared, the sea kinda moved and waves began beating while the winds only grew louder. I didn¡¯t realize when, but a large chunk of cloud hang low above the horizon. Maybe they were looking for vengeance against the tyrannical and murderous sun, I thought. It was far enough so that I couldn¡¯t give a damn about it. But it was very overwhelming just to see it and imagining it following me. It seemed to get darker and darker every second. Kim was not even slightly surprised or bothered.


    As I tried to sit down next to her, my back hurt while hunching; I should¡¯ve put some sun scream after all. She touched my back and I grunted in pain a bit. For an instant, I swear there was some satisfaction in her eyes.


    ¡°You should put some egg yolk on your burns, it helps,¡± there was a mix of sadism and care in her voice.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡±


    ¡°RIGHT NOW.¡±


    ¡°Get up then.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a kid anymore, just rub some egg yolk on your back.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave you here alone.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not a kid anymore too. You can go, I¡¯ll manage going back.¡±


    She turned her face to the sea and resigned on talking more. I sighed and headed to the house. The sea was aging as ripples scattered on her skin. The big chunk of cloud was my sole preoccupation while walking; I almost thought that it was chasing me. It was getting nearer and nearer, accompanied by growing winds and darkness. The grass on the hill seemed dry dead, and yet green, as though some gnome had painted each one of them with cheap green paint. Or maybe it was just the dying lighting. I searched for some eggs in the kitchen, since I really couldn¡¯t even remember who stored them between Kim and me. I rummaged through the drawers but instead found my lost (confiscated) bottle of rum. I continued searching while holding the bottle under my arm.


    Dumbass, I insulted myself as seeing dozens of eggs casually sitting by the top of the fridge. It took me quite a while to realize that they were there. I took two of them, broke their shells, separated the yolk, put it in a small bowl, and headed over to the bathroom. It was quite hard to see my back in the mirror, but I managed to find the burns with the painful sensation when I touched them. I rubbed quite a deal of yolk; my back looked like a yellowish plastic duck. Then, I went down to the kitchen, where my bottle of rum patiently waited for me on the small table. I poured myself a glass and chugged it while the yolk on my back dried up into a weird crust. There was not even the sound of cicadas in the house.


    Looking out from a window, the singular, threatening cloud hid the sun almost perfectly; it was no more than a blurry shape in the gray sky. His reign had ended. The sea too was no longer a constant line but broke into thousands of non-Euclidian figures. Its previous state of ataraxia didn¡¯t last for a while, not even half a day; between violent waves, it seemed very troubled, almost anxious. I took a not-so-warm shower (fearing that the burns would sting), and surprisingly enough, the yolk was effective. It sure still sting when touched, but I could freely move. I struggled a bit when drying up with the towel though. I went to the kitchen again and waited for Kim to come back while drinking.


    With less sun to dry it up, the scent of the olive tree imbibed the whole house again. It almost perfumed my rum. I put down my glass and headed outside to hid underneath its branches. I kinda missed the scent. Its leaves covered very well the hostile clouds now spreading like fleas; it was comforting somehow. I swore at the sky when droplets fell upon the world; I rapidly came back into the house while a few drips had already soaked my t-shirt. It broke into heavy rain in half an instant. And in the other half of the same instant, Kim came back into my mind.


    I grabbed an umbrella laying in a corner of the kitchen we¡¯d bought the day before, but we ultimately didn¡¯t use it since rain only fell once we got back. I also took the hoodie she¡¯d worn the morning. She was most likely soaked to the bones under that vicious rain. I opened up the umbrella and stepped outside. The hill was slippery; I couldn¡¯t rush my steps or else I¡¯d have fallen into the mud. But I started running while tugging the umbrella when I got down. It was really exhausting to land my feet on the moist, hobbling sand, but I kept running like a fool. As rain fell, so did the sun, and night steadily approached. Everything got darker and darker.


    The dull sound of drops hitting the sea was a constant white noise. Only my thoughts were louder. It was really cold outside, shivers were coming back and forth on my skin. Even as dry as I was, I felt like catching a cold the following day. What about Kim then? For how long was she soaked? I kept running. And there she was, slowly walking and gently folding her arms while the rain was beating down everything. She didn¡¯t seem to care but only carried on walking, face down, watching the passing sand as her feet passed before it. Her dress was awfully bright, awfully white, and strangely shone even though the world was dark. It stuck to her curves and dripped more frequently than the rain itself. She raised her eyebrows a bit when she saw me. Then they arched down.


    ¡°You smell booze,¡± was the next thing she said.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t the time to scold me, get under the umbrella! You¡¯re more drenched than the clouds.¡±


    She coyly went under the umbrella and we started walking toward home. I gave her the hoodie and she put it on straightaway.


    ¡°You went all the way here for me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Why else would I? I even ran.¡±


    ¡°I saw that,¡± she replied. ¡°Thanks,¡± she whispered. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t throw away your bottle.¡±


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s bad for your health. I¡¯m just trying to help you, okay?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I scoffed. ¡°You should take a bath when we¡¯ll get home¡ªit would be bad if you catch a cold.¡±


    ¡°I guess so¡­¡±


    We carried on walking in silence. The white noise of the rain invariably continued.


    ¡°Huh,¡± she muttered. ¡°Could we grab dinner in town? I mean¡ªI don¡¯t feel like cooking again.¡± She whispered again: ¡°Would you listen to my selfish whim?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess we could. Take a shower and we¡¯ll go down to town, alright?¡± I replied.


    A very faint smile flashed on her face and vanished as suddenly.

 VII. [End]

    I forgot to turn off the house¡¯s lights; by the time we got there, it was a lighthouse lost in a sea of rain. I couldn¡¯t smell the olive tree anymore, only the rising scent of moist soil. Kim went ahead and got in the bathroom. Meanwhile, I grabbed warmer clothes and another wad of bills. The rain wouldn¡¯t stop its slaughter. I lay on the couch and scrutinized the black screen of the TV while waiting for her. There was statics, but they weren¡¯t coming from the TV, kinda funny. Her footsteps creaked the wood of the stairs, and soon enough, after opening again the umbrella, we went into the car. My eardrums hurt from the incessant beating of the droplets on the car¡¯s roof.


    Night fell before we arrived in town. It was as though someone had veiled the world as suddenly throwing a rag on it. Pitch-black clouds veiled the world. The mechanical shouts of the engine were as mute as ourselves, and the wheels struggled to roll across large puddles. Every now and then, the only sound louder than the rain was the whooshing when we stumbled across these large puddles. I still remembered the restaurant I saw, which was not really one but rather a small dinner. Yellow light filtered through the fogged-up windows of the dinner.


    Finding a place to park sure was easy since there was a sole car apart from ours. And again through the blurry glasses, silhouettes were scarcely of five, let alone moving. When Kim entered first, I remembered she still wore her dress; fuzzily reverberating light, it was as striking as her bruises under yellowish lamps. Two of the three waitresses looked at us like some fools, and they immediately directed their stares at me after a second. The third one went to our table after we sat down.


    Kim was sinking in her seat opposite to me, while her head leaned low, staring at the slightly dirty table, and hiding her hands fiddling with the bottom of her dress beneath it. I could hardly meet the eyes of the waitress and wandered my eyes everywhere else they weren¡¯t supposed to be. Kim muttered her order, what I heard to be some salad with a milkshake, and I ordered a plate of ribs with some fries plus a coffee. The waitress noted all that while staring at me like some shit who beat women, and she tapped the tip of her shoes more often than some sort of tick. Irritated, probably.


    When she finally stopped scribbling on her paper, she clicked her tongue and flew out of there in an instant. Kim was still lowering her head and fumbling the end of her dress. Her bruises were an elephant in the room. A couple, a gal in a loose t-shirt, her boyfriend¡¯s I thought, and the guy, looked at us from the other side of the dinner; I could hear the gal repeating ¡®asshole¡¯ with other comments as kind, and ¡®like¡­¡¯ in between almost each of her words. The guy just nodded in silence but stared at me with the same nasty air. Her head seemed to drop lower and lower.


    Their mean, understandable, mute insults were strangely audible in the silence of the rain. I tried to get my mind somewhere else by watching the drips racing on the windows. But every stare was directed at me. Kim¡¯s hand clenched harder and harder, making the dress¡¯ fabric rustle louder and louder. Her lips closed tighter and tighter, her eyes, narrower and narrower. Then, she snapped.


    ¡°WHAT ARE YOU ALL STARING FOR?¡± she shouted, scattering her spitefulness amid the dinner. ¡°DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM WITH MY BRUISES? THEN I¡¯LL TELL YOU ALL! MY MOTHER DID THESE! YEAH, THAT BITCH BEAT ME! AND I¡¯M SO GLAD SHE¡¯S DEAD, SHE¡¯S SO FUCKING DEAD! DEAD!¡ªTHIS GUY,¡± she pointed at me, ¡°KILLED HER, HE KILLED THAT OTHER ASSHOLE THAT WAS MY STEP-FATHER TOO! HE¡¯D KILL ANY OF YOU IF YOU KEEP STARING, HE¡¯LL FUCKING KILL EACH ONE OF YOU. SO COULD YOU ALL MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS AND LEAVE ME ALONE?¡±


    She was standing when her outburst ended; strangely enough, her voice didn¡¯t raise that much, rather, her tone had something very sharp and fundamentally mean. She realized what she just said and looked at me with her despairing eyes. She didn¡¯t even wait for me to get out of there. I followed her as soon as her feet moved.


    ¡°AAAAAAHHHHHH!¡± she squeaked in the car while grasping her head with her two hands.


    Her breath hastened and she curled up in a ball. I started the engine, without saying anything; fuck, I didn¡¯t know what to say. She started sobbing, so quietly that her tears evaporated up in the beating of the rain. I could hear her being trembling out of cold, and out of something else. Maybe she wanted to disappear. But she remained.


    Somber. The hill was a singular shadow, darker than the rest of the world and forming a bump tending to the sky. Rain fell so much that when the headlights hit its droplets, it looked like stream of vapor escaping a kettle under the kitchen¡¯s light. She was still sobbing. I heard her sniffs from time to time.


    And as soon as I stopped the car, she rushed to her room; I listened to a slamming door from my seat. After a while, staring at the weeping clouds that wouldn¡¯t stop, I decided to get some sleep. I didn¡¯t bother to open up the umbrella. No bulb was turned on in the house; she didn¡¯t take the trouble to light them up. It felt hollow when the clicking sound of the switching echoed within the rooms. I turned them off as soon as I realized that.


    So I went for my room, closed the door, and sank into my bed. The room was dull. Invariantly black, only with some shades of grey gushing from that lonely window. Turning away from it and closing my eyes, I couldn¡¯t tell the difference. I ended up falling asleep.


    The following morning, the sound of breaking glass woke me up. I rushed down the stair for investigating that sound and instead met with Kim standing in the kitchen. She had just thrown my bottle of rum on the ground, next to its remains. She was in her deep purple pajama and realizing it didn¡¯t shine bright, I could see beads of rain invariantly falling upon the world from the window.


    ¡°How many days left?¡± she asked. Her voice didn¡¯t carry much concern, or even energy. There were very faint pockets beneath her eyes. Her skin was pale, her bruises seemed darker with such background. She didn¡¯t seem well.


    ¡°Four with today,¡± I replied. ¡°You¡¯re fine?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a cold,¡± I believed her.


    ¡°This house¡¯s really bad-conditioned, and you soaked up in rain yesterday. No wonder you¡¯d catch a cold.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she simply replied. ¡°Leave me alone.¡±


    The last part of her reply offended me more than I expected. I felt my brows arching down. She flew to her room before I could say something else. I didn¡¯t hear her lock the door, so I went up to it, stood before it, but didn¡¯t resign myself to knock. I couldn¡¯t. I left her alone and sank back into my bed. There, I stared at the ceiling longer than any human being would normally do. Something bugged me with it. After a while, and I say a while, I went back to her door. I raised my hand, ready to knock, but I ultimately just barged in.


    She didn¡¯t bother to shut up and stop weeping like a crybaby. I thought she didn¡¯t notice my sudden entrance, but she just couldn¡¯t care more. Curled up like a ball, tucked in her blanket and hiding away her being, she wanted to disappear. Rain rudely interrupted each one of her cries, nobody seemed to care. I sat just before the bed, leaning my back against it, and waited for her to lighten up and cease. But she wouldn¡¯t. I closed my eyes and breathed as though I just choked; in silence, of course, not actually loudly. Her weeps muted very gradually, so slowly that when I heard nothing more than a murmur, I was alarmed to the core.


    I got up on a whim and spared her a glance. She sniffed once and I sighed in relief.


    ¡°You fine, Kim?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a cold.¡±


    ¡°Is there something I could do to help you?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can do to help me.¡±


    ¡°Let me know if there¡¯s anything.¡±


    She resumed sobbing in that same mute tone. I sat by the bed again and closed my eyes.


    ¡°Why did you kill my parents?¡± escaped from her blanket after a while.


    ¡°Why? ...I dunno. Maybe I just realized that I didn¡¯t have that much time left and I wanted to help you. You¡¯re the only one who seems sane in this world¡ªeven just your silence felt so much saner than their rambling¡ªeven if we didn¡¯t speak together before, I knew somewhere in my mind that you understood how it felt like living in a mad world. Funny¡ªwe could be the madmen and them the sane, or the other way around, but it wouldn¡¯t change a damn single thing. Point is, it seemed like the only thing I could do to ¡®repay¡¯ your understanding. I¡¯m miserable, ain¡¯t I? I feel the duty to repay someone who understands me. But during these two last days, I realized what I did was utterly futile¡ªno, don¡¯t take that in the wrong way. I mean, killing your parents didn¡¯t undo the atrocities done to you-¡±


    ¡°But even my bruises are a very tangible proof of it,¡± she replied, knowing what I was about to conceal next. ¡°¡­Like I said, I¡¯m glad you killed them. Being ¡®glad¡¯ undo nothing, but I still was and am, glad. It was futile¡ªI agree¡ªlike any vengeance, but the absurd joy I got out of it, even as meaningless as it was, felt like the only real thing I¡¯ve experienced in a while.¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I didn¡¯t know what to say next; we both knew we talked too much. I felt more and more drowsy so ended up sleeping for a while.


    When I woke up, the rain had calmed down a little. Instead of pitch-black, the clouds were already grayish. It rained as though the cloud didn¡¯t have the will to weep. I got up to take a look from the window. But when I turned my head to the bed, Kim was nowhere to be seen in the room. Did she really go somewhere in the house with that fever?


    So I started looking for her across the house but found nothing. The scattered pieces of glass were still in the middle of the kitchen¡¯s tiling. She wasn¡¯t laying on the couch before the TV, or seated by the living room, or brewing olive tea in the kitchen, or doing laundry in that small room where were stocked the cleaning material, or taking a shower in the bathroom, or kicking me in that dull room, or standing before the limitless blue of the sea and the sky while her dress swayed and shone, or seating in the car while mindlessly peering out from her window, or reading French poetry at the dining table.


    ¡®I¡¯ll never let you see,¡¯ echoed throughout the house.


    It didn¡¯t sound quite right. Not dissonant, but muffled and distant. The attic. I finally remembered we had an attic. As I got nearer and nearer to the roof, I could more properly hear the noises in background to the music. I grabbed the rope to open its trapdoor and a rustic stairway revealed itself to me.


    Dust was incrusted in its wood. It creaked every time I landed my foot. And up there, there was only more dust. Hundreds of boxes were clumsily arranged, some stuck in corners, some tucked onto one another, some falling into another, some open, some closed¡­ It was pretty dark, with only a hastily improvised bulb serving as a lamp for lighting, which didn¡¯t even work, probably burnt.


    At its far end, there was a sole, singular rectangular window, no wider than two heads, from which all light poured onto the dust. I could see an old record player with the single play of A-ha¡¯s ¡®Crying in the rain¡¯ under it, echoing throughout the house. The noises blended with the sound of rain.


    And before it, she was watching the dying world outside.


    She was sitting above one sturdy box. Her hands were visibly filled with dust and she was obviously the one who had played the song. She seemed to enjoy herself with it. She wasn¡¯t surprised when I got closer, she just patted the other box next to her to tell me to sit down. I did as she said.


    Then, I noticed there were some blue stains on the tip of her fingers. And right in front of her feet was some blank papers forming a messy hill, the fountain pen without its cap, and the deep indigo ink with its lid open and evaporating like the blue sea. Again, I noticed she was hiding a sheet in her left hand, while I was at her right side. It was neatly folded into her palm.


    Without even a word, she put her head on my shoulder and looked outside. I didn¡¯t know what to do, so I left her rest there. I looked outside too; really, the world seemed like dying. All dull and greyish. The frame of the window delimited very well the carcass of the earth. We stayed motionless for a while. Kim slept at some point and I felt her head heavier on my shoulder. So, very gently, I tried to gather her in my arms and carry her like a princess. But then she opened her eyes, and closed them in the same instant. While feigning to be asleep, I was still trying to lift her somehow.


    Once in my arms, she yanked a bit nearer to my chest. She was cold. She said she had a cold, but she truly was cold. And her skin was covered in sweat. Although she dearly held the folded paper, still hiding it away. But her fast heartbeats distracted me from that. As near as she was, I could feel each one of her pulses. I swear I¡¯ve seen a smile flash across her face. I didn¡¯t dislike it. She was still pretending to be asleep while I went back to the room where she slept. It wasn¡¯t easy to grasp the doorknob like that, but I managed somehow.


    I tucked her in her blanket, and for the briefest moment, an intense feeling reached my heart. I wanted to be next to her so badly. Tearing her out of my arms felt colder than she was.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she very mildly called out. ¡°Just this once, could you sleep with me?¡± she wasn¡¯t sleeping.


    So, I crept inside the bed. It felt really warm when I got in the blanket. There was a smile that I¡¯d never seen from her on her face; it was kind, very kind, and beautiful, and genuine. I felt like I could die watching her face and leaving the world with a sole regret: her. You see, before all this, I could¡¯ve probably died without a single regret, and that¡¯s a shame. Dying without regrets basically means you¡¯ve done nothing out of and in your life, dying with some means you¡¯ve had a decent life with your share of good and bad things, but dying with a sole regret means you had a shitty life, but just before it ended, you finally had something to lose.


    I desperately tried to return her the same smile. I could¡¯ve died. Instead, I felt drowsier and drowsier while her smile invariably hung there. Her face imprinted in my retinae as the sun rays escaping the clouds reflected off her face. I sank deeper and deeper, closed my eyes tighter and tighter¡­


    Her smile was the last thing that remained.


    By the time you¡¯d be reading this, you must¡¯ve guessed; she died the following morning. I tried to shake her a little when I woke up, a little bit more, harder, harder, and harder, but she wouldn¡¯t. She wouldn¡¯t. She looked very humane and alive, that something was there.


    Death had saved her.


    She didn¡¯t move the slightest. Of course. Her smile was already gone. Only peace was on her face. She was as cold as before. It wasn¡¯t a cold.


    The folded paper. It shone blank white under the morning rays. The rain had stopped, only staying clouds. It shone blank white like the morning dew. I was scared to touch her. She was cold. It burnt when I touched her. Awful disgust and fear. Pain. I couldn¡¯t breathe properly. I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. But I remained. She was gone. Not there. Gone.


    I wanted to puke nasty things. I felt frantic again.


    I snatch the paper from her dead hands. I didn¡¯t want to unfold it. I shouldn¡¯t have. But you should, I¡¯ll leave it with this.


    ¡®I¡¯m very sorry.


    I know I¡¯ll be dead when you¡¯ll read this. I wanted to tell you why I¡¯m so sure I¡¯ll die in the first place; my hands are shaking while I¡¯m writing this; I sweat like hell; I¡¯m cold; my heart is racing; my nose just bled; my head hurts so much, and if I could, I¡¯d just grab your shotgun and blow up my face; I can¡¯t walk anymore, just sit like this; everything¡¯s blurry; everything¡¯s distant like in some kind of nightmare; everything hurts; the bruises hurt.


    These already happened to me before, two times. The first time, I think it was when I was 9, you know, when my father tried to kill me. It has to do with that huge scar you saw. And when I say he almost killed me, I mean, the doctors said I lost about half of the blood in my body. Of course, I passed out, but right before I did, it was exactly the same feeling.


    The second time, it was when I was 13. That was the first time my stepfather raped me. He barged in my room, just like that, around 6 of the evening, he grabbed my hands, I started screaming, my mother wouldn¡¯t come, I screamed harder, he put his mouth in mine, he threw me against the wall, I shut up, he slipped his hand below, I started sobbing, ¡®SHUT THE FUCK UP¡¯, I sobbed quieter, he threw me against the other wall, I stopped sobbing, he carried on, he took off his pants, [an indigo stain redacted this part], [another stain], [another one], [another], ¡®If you tell anyone, I¡¯ll kill ya, or I¡¯ll fuck ya again, then I¡¯ll kill ya. I¡¯m sure no one¡¯d want a raped dead body to bury, no one will accept ya when ye¡¯ll be dead¡¯, he left the room, I sobbed again, my mother went in, I tried to hide under the blanket, she threw it away, she grabbed my hands, she threw me against the wall, against the other one, I shut up, she took a rod, she lifted it up in the air, [an indigo stain redacted this part], [another stain], [another one], [another], the bruises wouldn¡¯t disappear, I didn¡¯t sob anymore.


    It was exactly the same feeling the days after. My stepfather brought me to the hospital and lied that I fell down the stairs. They just believed him. The doctors said it was internal bleeding, and I lost about half of the blood in my body again. It never happened again after that, it bothered them too much. My mother didn¡¯t beat me as much then. But it happened again recently.


    You guessed it? Blood¡¯s escaping within my flesh. And I think I lost half of it already.


    Of course, I could just shout to you that I¡¯m dying, and we¡¯ll go to the hospital and I¡¯ll be fine. But I won¡¯t.


    I¡¯ll die, either way. You¡¯ll be gone some days later anyway and then I¡¯ll kill myself too. Just right under that olive tree, so that it can have a friend for the first time in its life. I can¡¯t stand seeing it standing there alone.


    I just want to disappear. That¡¯s the only way everything can be undone. No more bruises and no more me.


    But there¡¯s something I wanted to tell you. Thank you. I think I kind of understand what you meant with beauty now. These two last days were filled with beauty. The house, the lone olive tree, the beach, all these are beautiful. You called me beautiful despite all the bruises and the scars. I was so happy you did, so happy. At some point, I just stopped my thought and felt happy. I seriously thought we could live like that for eternity, together in that house. That¡¯s beauty, right? Right¡­ But I couldn¡¯t stand it. I can¡¯t. No. I just had to ruin it all and shout in that dinner. Is that how you¡¯ll die? Caught by the police and shoot down? I don¡¯t want to see that too. I don¡¯t want to see you disappear.


    So, if I die, could you bring my dead body underneath that poor lonely tree? Please.


    I think I talked too much, wrote too much, anyway¡­


    ¡ªKimberly¡¯


    She won¡¯t ask me ¡®How many days left?¡¯ again. But as I¡¯m writing all this down right now, I have two days left. I spent all the day yesterday in my dull room, on this typewriter. And I¡¯m around the end of this story, and I¡¯m sure you wonder what happens next. Well, I¡¯m gonna kill myself. Right under that olive tree, right next to her. Why? I seriously don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t mistake it, it ain¡¯t like Romeo and Juliet, or Crime and Punishment. This is not a confession, no, there¡¯s nothing for me to atone from. I could probably cope with my sentence, or run away, but it¡¯s all really empty. As empty as this room. You have to understand, that¡¯s the point. You have to understand us. Her.


    Everything is just as empty now that she¡¯s gone, might as well dumbly follow the prediction. That funny machine¡­ That gypsy was absolutely right; I¡¯d die in seven days. It even predicted that I¡¯d die because I knew I¡¯d die, that I¡¯d follow his ¡®prediction¡¯, that the ¡®effect¡¯ would merely be the ¡®cause¡¯. Truly unsettling. Would I¡¯ve done all this if I didn¡¯t read that prediction? I hardly think I would¡¯ve. I¡¯ll grab my shotgun and blow up my face anyway.


    Before the invariant scenery of the sea framed by my window, in the corner of this futile afternoon, hunched on this typewriter¡ªI¡¯m writing our story, her story, between beautiful lies.


    And it has come to an end.