Photo de Akshar Dave🌻 on Unsplash
The night grows longer due to the heavy rain pounding down on it. Tucked in the shelter of my letters, my laptop seems to have an excess of feedback.
I type and type and type.
I just want to listen to the tapping of my fingers on the keys.
I type, type, type, and keep typing.
This chapter is not ready yet, I need it before dawn.
My dark hair is already greasy, I need to buy another shampoo. The formula on the lenses of my glasses is very worn, the light from the screen is starting to bother me. But I can't stop typing; I can't let what's going to happen to my heroine be in suspense.
A leak bursts in with the roar of the rain, imposing its sound.
Why didn't I fix that roof when I had the money, I thought, and now my wallet is emptier than a dark, dry well.
I walk by the side of the mirror and couldn't help but notice how I looked. I looked pale as a ghost. I touched my cheeks gently and saw how pronounced they were. Veins sprouted on my thin hands as if I had strained my arms. My fingers were gnarled and my nails looked brittle and torn.
My God, my jaw! I thought, it looked like the tip of a spear. My neck was more prominent and my lips looked consumed. I moved closer and noticed the spleens of blood pooling in my brown pupils. I was too afraid of getting worse and left the mirror to head to my laptop.
"Enough, I think I'd better finish tomorrow," I sentenced. I saved the information and shut down my computer.
"How long have I not eaten, am I hungry?" Strange questions I asked myself, and as enigmatic as an Edgard Allan Poe riddle.
I headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. I had only sandwich bread, mayonnaise, and yellow cheese; and over there in the corner almost hidden a piece of rotten tomato.
"Shit, I have to go out tomorrow to buy food," I spat and then started to make myself a sandwich with the good stuff that was left.
As I was eating, a new and unmelodious sound caught my attention: it was my cell phone, I looked at the screen and it was an unknown number.
I ignored it completely, I don't like to answer unidentified calls because to me they are jokes of fate. I continued eating my sandwich and when I almost finished it, I received the call again.
"It's almost midnight, who could be bothering me at this hour?" I asked myself. "No one has my new number, only my agent, and he wouldn't call me on a weekend."
The lightning flashes of the storm echoed imposingly. The noise of the dripping seemed to transform into lacerating knives piercing the ground. My heart raced with panic as I heard the new incoming call; sponsored by that same unknown number.
I took steps backward until I was stopped by a wall. "No! I'm not answering! I'm not answering an unknown number!" I vociferated stubbornly.
My hands were shaking as the horrendous ring, ring of my phone rang at the top of my lungs. I'd rather die than answer it.
Between the lashing of the horrendous tunes, there was a manifesto of rage and anxiety. I gritted my teeth like a rabid animal and articulated my fingers into fists with my hands. With a bound, I lunged for the phone and grabbed it. I immediately took the call, not caring about the consequences of the unknown.
"What? Who are you? Why are you calling me so much? Speak now!" I shouted with all the rage pent up in my throat.
"Gabriel, are you all right?" the voice replied. "It's me, your mother. I know I should have texted you first, but I wanted to hear your voice and know how you were doing."
I sighed; long and deep.
"Oh... mother... hum... I'm sorry I yelled at you, it's just that I..."
"It's okay son, I understand..."
We talked that night for quite a while until the call ended. The rain stopped and now it was the sound of the leak that dominated the room; I need to repair this roof.
THE END
