and cover my forehead with my hands.
Again, that feeling of —this can't be happening to me— is coming
back, but it is so cliché that I try to avoid it in a matter of
seconds. Hell, this thing is going to kill me.
"Feeling better?” he asks as if he was
a psychologist and actually expected my emotional
explosion.
"Of course not, how on earth am I
supposed to feel better?"
"I don't know, just by doing
so?"
"It's not like if I had a feeling
switch button" which would actually come in real handy.
I put my arms on the bed, I breathe
slowly and I try to appreciate the fact that he keeps trying to
help. But the ultimate reason for that is that he wants me alive on
the day that Elizabeth needs to take my soul, and that is not
something I am ready to accept.
Jay comes near my bed and sits down.
He looks at me and with a —very real—friendly voice tries to
comfort me.
"Look, why don't we go out, like
friends. And we can talk about all this."
"I thought you said "like friends",
talking about this is business for you", I answer without looking
at him.
"Well, I can't hide the truth. The
offer is on. You decide." he stands up, gets into the bathroom and
within seconds I can hear the water running.
I spend the next seconds in the same
position, then I pick up some old notebook I carried with me from
home in which I used to write ideas for future novels, and I write
the first thoughts that pop up, which turn out to be the first
lines I've written here in months.
After a promising start in the
"Alex Stills American Dream", I must confess I have the greatest
story that could have ever crossed my mind. The problem is that I
will not live long enough to tell it, and that sucks. It turns out
that all that crazy stuff that we tell to children about fantasy is
not crazy stuff at all, and I have learned that in the best way
possible. Experience, it all comes down to experience. Moral of the
story: Don't go anywhere, some want-to-be-Gods might choose your
soul to fulfill whatever their life's goal is.
This is the most ridiculous journal
entry that I have ever written, and yes, I want to acknowledge it,
so it never happens again.
This is Alex, still
alive.
I still don't know why I have accepted
Jay's proposal, but the thing is that I am sitting in a bar with
him and the loud music helps me not to concentrate on what I'm
thinking.
He has been friendly enough during all
afternoon, as always, which is quite bothering. I hate it when
people pretend that something has not happened. The cocktail in
front of me remains intact, I don't feel like drinking, let alone
being drunk in a couple of minutes. Jay, of course, doesn't seem to
care much about a clearly possible drinking problem, since he is
already on his third round and it doesn't look like his
last.
He stands up and goes to the table
right next to us, there are a couple of girls, one of them I'm
pretty sure lives in our residence. Jay talks to them both and in a
matter of minutes the three of them are on the dance floor. I am
just sitting here, and I cannot help but wonder, how the hell does
he do it? I don't think I could be like that if I had to deal with
everything that he has to put up with. The thought leaves as
quickly as it appeared, obviously, I am just a simple mortal, as he
would probably say.
While he is out dancing I have time to
think about this all over again, I am not convinced about what is
more difficult to get used to, dying, or the reason for it. Neither
of them are easy to focus on right now. I let my mind go with the
music, and before the next song starts, the thoughts are back,
obviously it is not going to be that easy. Ten minutes later, Jay
is back on the table, he drinks a little bit more and puts the
glass to a side. He sits back and looks at me.
"I love this place" he is
drunk.
"So you wanted to talk?" I bring up
the subject, not because I feel like hearing the same explanation
over and over, but I want to put an end to this whole thing as soon
as
Again, that feeling of —this can't be happening to me— is coming
back, but it is so cliché that I try to avoid it in a matter of
seconds. Hell, this thing is going to kill me.
"Feeling better?” he asks as if he was
a psychologist and actually expected my emotional
explosion.
"Of course not, how on earth am I
supposed to feel better?"
"I don't know, just by doing
so?"
"It's not like if I had a feeling
switch button" which would actually come in real handy.
I put my arms on the bed, I breathe
slowly and I try to appreciate the fact that he keeps trying to
help. But the ultimate reason for that is that he wants me alive on
the day that Elizabeth needs to take my soul, and that is not
something I am ready to accept.
Jay comes near my bed and sits down.
He looks at me and with a —very real—friendly voice tries to
comfort me.
"Look, why don't we go out, like
friends. And we can talk about all this."
"I thought you said "like friends",
talking about this is business for you", I answer without looking
at him.
"Well, I can't hide the truth. The
offer is on. You decide." he stands up, gets into the bathroom and
within seconds I can hear the water running.
I spend the next seconds in the same
position, then I pick up some old notebook I carried with me from
home in which I used to write ideas for future novels, and I write
the first thoughts that pop up, which turn out to be the first
lines I've written here in months.
After a promising start in the
"Alex Stills American Dream", I must confess I have the greatest
story that could have ever crossed my mind. The problem is that I
will not live long enough to tell it, and that sucks. It turns out
that all that crazy stuff that we tell to children about fantasy is
not crazy stuff at all, and I have learned that in the best way
possible. Experience, it all comes down to experience. Moral of the
story: Don't go anywhere, some want-to-be-Gods might choose your
soul to fulfill whatever their life's goal is.
This is the most ridiculous journal
entry that I have ever written, and yes, I want to acknowledge it,
so it never happens again.
This is Alex, still
alive.
I still don't know why I have accepted
Jay's proposal, but the thing is that I am sitting in a bar with
him and the loud music helps me not to concentrate on what I'm
thinking.
He has been friendly enough during all
afternoon, as always, which is quite bothering. I hate it when
people pretend that something has not happened. The cocktail in
front of me remains intact, I don't feel like drinking, let alone
being drunk in a couple of minutes. Jay, of course, doesn't seem to
care much about a clearly possible drinking problem, since he is
already on his third round and it doesn't look like his
last.
He stands up and goes to the table
right next to us, there are a couple of girls, one of them I'm
pretty sure lives in our residence. Jay talks to them both and in a
matter of minutes the three of them are on the dance floor. I am
just sitting here, and I cannot help but wonder, how the hell does
he do it? I don't think I could be like that if I had to deal with
everything that he has to put up with. The thought leaves as
quickly as it appeared, obviously, I am just a simple mortal, as he
would probably say.
While he is out dancing I have time to
think about this all over again, I am not convinced about what is
more difficult to get used to, dying, or the reason for it. Neither
of them are easy to focus on right now. I let my mind go with the
music, and before the next song starts, the thoughts are back,
obviously it is not going to be that easy. Ten minutes later, Jay
is back on the table, he drinks a little bit more and puts the
glass to a side. He sits back and looks at me.
"I love this place" he is
drunk.
"So you wanted to talk?" I bring up
the subject, not because I feel like hearing the same explanation
over and over, but I want to put an end to this whole thing as soon
as
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