Day 5f5i5v5e Black, little guilt.

Short, very short, less than 120 cm separated the crown of their head from the floor their tiny amorphous feet walked on. And black, very black, a frog-like dark skin from the chin to the toes that offered different tones of this unusual pigmentation depending on sunlight exposure.

Nonetheless, these features would not have been as eye-catching if seen as the morbidly attractive face. Had this face been placed in the correct body, not only popularity but also probably success and fame would have met their path in a humanly world. Although this was not the case, their faces remained magnificent. Even if they presented the same shades of black, the repellent texture was oddly absent. An oval, clean cut frame supporting two crystal-like blue eyes, a noble bean shaped nose, cold marbled cheeks which had helped interminable tears follow their path down, and a little cavern for mouth full of precious ivory teeth.

The set of clothes worn that day particularly depended on the mood of their companion, the latter relying in a great way in the capricious mood of the ever-changing weather. Today’s outfit for instance, presented a scarlet glistening coloration, accounting for the heartfelt rage her companion was experiencing.

Undoubtedly, she could not see the amiable black little guy next to her; the one whispering warm breathed words to the air while they ate, bathed, worked, commuted or slept next to each other, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, from birth till death. Scrambled ideas that never made sense, decisions changed the last minute or simple irrational impulses that gave unexpected results were all result of their symbiosis.

continues....

Day 4f4o4u4r Wings

The sudden crashing sound pulled me out of my sleep forcing me to push hard with my both hairless hands to avoid my heart from bursting out of my chest. Doing this I realized not only my torso, but also my back and forehead were drenched in thick acrid sweat.

The dazzling morning light combined with my drowsy brain slowly agreeing to work together with my senses made it hard to get at first, but my eyes glued by the dried out tears understood, little by little , what was in front of them.The big black crow had smashed its head, definitely on purpose, against the huge crystal, leaving a heart shaped spot on the crackled windowpane. Lucky little bastard read my thoughts and got ahead of me, shoving in my face my slowness. Nonetheless I was meant to call it even soon.

Every single toothpick bone in this fragile body had to be crushed but the crow's heart was still beating, and its beak was desperately grasping for air. Should I even had worry about picking up the twisted bunch of bones and feathers? I opted not to, had more important things to do and stop doing.

Once in the toilet, I considered how brushing my teeth had never been a ritual, a monotone up-down-left-right-back-front movement performed three times a day (a sober one) in less than three minutes. Today was different of course. Even if I was chocking with my own teeth after the fall, or if they were spread all over the pavement, I wanted them to be as clean as heaven.In the process, my gums started bleeding again; they had been doing it for the last three months; could I care less?

I needed to be dressed for the occasion asking myself if the event of jumping off my 25th floor window was tagged as a formal or a casual one? just could not make up my mind. I opted for my favorite pair of boxer underwear (the only ones that didn’t cut blood flow from my waist down), casual but expensive pair of washed-out jeans (never thought this fashion would perdure) and a black, pink collared polo shirt that she gave me a couple of years back.Last shower time. Never got used to taking 45 minutes long steaming bath as she always did. My naked body had never entirely please me. Pinkish skin only a little darker in my arms, an abdomen that has been getting swollen with the years, hairy legs ending in hairy twisted toes.

Having dragged it under the jet, I allowed the water to do its job just giving time to time. It flowed from the top of my short haired head down my thick brows, girl-like lashes, green big closed eyes, rough chin. Let it cascade behind tiny ears, thick fleshy neck, freckled shoulders, all the way down those previously mentioned toes. A moment so filled with peace dangerously stepping in the realm of ectasy that made me wish I had the guts to die drowned instead.

A moment is just a moment though. Like the moment when I had it all because I had her. Like this moment when I am so depleted, light and hollow I tend to wonder if I will slowly float my way down after the jump. I stepped out the misty hot shower room and stared patiently at the face I was about to smash against the pavement, it was a pity, I still liked it a lot.

Perfume was important too since I am obsessed by odors, I read somewhere that our sense of smell is not as developed as that of many animals, mine surely is above human standards though. Some among the ones I love are burning pungent rubber, hot chocolate fudge, young female sweat. Light rain in the middle of summer, freshly crusty baked bread, the never-ending milky white caramel smell of the back neck of a Japanese woman. Recently disinfected toilet, French wine bouquet, the metal like smell of my hands after a long day of work having touched hundreds of objects previously touched by thousands of people. A new pair of leather shoes coming out from their box, steaming white rice, the inner part of her soft wrists. I couldn’t leave this room, this flat, this building, this city, this world expelling a bad odor.

After the morning ritual was almost over and my face seemed that of a totally different human being, a better one, a cleaner one, a non suicidal one, adding something to my craving stomach would be almost the last step in the getting ready.

A cup of coffee, the tasteless one they sell in this country and some sliced bread topped with margarine and jam would suffice, wouldn't it? one; Slice of rye bread, reminds me of Salinger and I wonder how stupid I am, two; layer of thick yellowish salty margarine, Three; layer of gluey and possible expired blackberry jam that has lived in my refrigerator for the last four months. Perfect creation, I have always loved playing God.

I have also always wondered what would I reply to the stupid guy who came to ask me what I would like to eat for my last supper given the case I was sentenced to death row. A piece of meat I would say. A blue, still profusely bleeding thick steak sprinkled with black pepper. The funny thing is that you sprinkle black pepper on me in a couple of minutes I will look exactly as that last supper I would order in that given case.

Before having my last breakfast instead of that hypothetical capital penalty last supper, checking the weather was mandatory. Today would it be windy, foggy, bitter, hot, muggy, would there be a blizzard, meters of snow, a hurricane or a canicular heat, would I have to take the fall feeling the sunrays burning my face, the snow melting on my cheeks and neck, the mighty wind wildly blowing my hair, or the clouds or fog impeding me from seeing a thing, I would still definitely take the leap.

I had almost forgotten about the little guy who crashed and crushed against my glass but the heart shaped stain reminded on the spot. He /she had already and finally stopped breathing and looked so peaceful now; lucky you. I stepped out the balcony being extremely careful not to step on the little one. The body laying next to my foot was the most amazingly overwhelming proof of the magnificent intelligence of crows. I had seen them in this city using team work in order to rip a garbage bag and get a fulfilling dinner, using traffic in order to break nuts open, standing on high tension cables without ever getting fried, but it was the first time one of them committed suicide, for crying out loud.

I stuck my head over the balcony taking a quick glance left and right in order to get a grasp of the meteorological condition of my last day here, unfortunately I got more than that, much more. At the next door apartment, just meters away from me, a surprisingly totally naked guy was already standing on the balcony rail, how he kept his balance just beat me. Had the crow and this guy tacitly agreed on putting me to shame?

Continues...

Day 3t3h3r3e3e Make your luck

It wasn't until I heard the rapid knocking on the wooden desk surface that I could cut short my daydreaming. Her single fold lid eyes which made 29's face look drowsy all the time and her milky Asian hand still on a fist caught my attention for a couple of seconds more.

-"Are you ok?" she whispered . "I called your number at least five times, are you sure you're fine?" she insisted.

-"yeah, I am. Sorry, I was just thinking about this afternoon's reunion" I persuasively lied. "something you need 29?"

-"no, leave it, we will look at it after the meeting" she concluded showing me that messy smile of hers. Those teeth seemed to have had a terrible argument and now every single one was heading a different way. In spite of that, I still thought of that chaos as a very cute one.

Do you ever think about that? I don't mean your numbered colleagues' sleepy eyes, their soft hands or disorganized dentition. I mean chaos. Early in the morning with plenty of time to kill, I ask myself; what if there was an earthquake right now? It happens to me all the time , particularly during the hot season. I get drown in my pool of thoughts and always need some kind of fleshy lifesaver to pull me out. The cacophony that reigns this place cramped with more than 70 numbers obliges me to escape, if I don't do it this way, what else do I have to keep my sanity?

-"Have you been able to end the report for this afternoon 13?" the astounding pair of legs, a decent torso crowned with an average face that constitutes 32 asked me in a serious, still extremely kind voice.

-"I'll mail it to you right away 32, with all the attachments. Sorry for taking so long" I apologized, something I have to do around 200 times a day in this place.

-"That is ok, I was just wondering if you needed a hand with that" 32 said with a wink. What a
phoney.

Why don’t people let their mind fly? That long report, the next meeting, the final appointment, the long mail, the irritating phone call. Are we saving lives or changing the world by doing all this? I kept wondering while sipping a cup of tasteless, sugarless, charmless dark cup of coffee. "Why don't they?” the question kept spinning "And what if a plane crashed into the building now?"

Lunch time, the herd in its full rushing out the office at the exact same minute it did the day before. It is as the hard-working employees' minds were programmed to do so (Aren't they?); to chatter down the hall only to become absurdly mute the moment they ride on the also packed elevators. As the doors of those up-down going boxes slided open at the top floor where I work, I couldn't help but thinking this time it would definitely fall crushing us all.

Once in the lobby, all employees are required to go through the big crystal main gate in order to get their strongly desired lunchboxes in exchange of a couple of coins. Before I crossed the portal I noticed that the EXIT sign on top of the transparent door has a little green man running desperately towards an open door. Had they decided to make the man green in order to be politically correct toward the white, black, yellow and brown human numbers who inhabited this building? Even so, it was obvious that something was going to happen sooner or later, otherwise why would he be running so desperately.

Once I found a place in the cafeteria, and without having really intended to do so, I started checking everyone's lunch. What 71 chewed looked like greasy pork chop, 45 looked delighted with her thick noodle soup and 15 washed down her sandwich with a cold soda. My life or death mission got interrupted by 29's messy toothed mouth saying "Do you mind if I sit here 13?” which I, against myself, just acknowledged with a fast nod and the fakest of smiles. As all those sets of jaws, teeth and tongues did their work in an almost ridiculous rhythmical way, the fact that nobody had ever tried to poison all those lunchboxes just struck me as unbelievable. This lack of imagination was going to be the doom of the human numbers.

Once back in the office, I keep it up with the thinking; I would love to enter into each one of their heads, one at a time and figure out what the heck they think of the 9 hours they pose their buttocks on that uncomfortable chair. Dreams, illusions, plans, ideas, projects, some number in particular who means all for them or the one they would like to give this meaning to but has not shown up in their lives yet. That quick lunch normally inflates my belly like a ripe watermellon and makes me feel as heavy as if I had swollen a ton of pebbles. Does it happen to you as well?

The meeting went as expected; boring and meaningless, without a single important decision taken, leaded as usual in a mediocre way by 1 who was always checking 2's and 3's faces after every sentence looking for approval. I couldn't decide which one of them I respected the less. How come, one of the numbers had never gotten tired of all the nonsense discussed here, grabbed his guts and a sharp (or blunt?) object and got rid of as many of us as she or he could?

The boredom in the last minutes of the afternoon became less bearable since the heat got worse. I could feel the droplets of sweat dancing all over my skin, getting me drenched, opening the door to that acrid smell. Time to go back home though. I took my stuff, waved goodbye to 29, 28 and 27 who all sit next to each other in the same row and ignored their choral "bye" while I stepped out. Going back to the station I knew my last hope was to have some kind of misalignment, human error, obstruction or attack that caused a terrible derailment costing many lives, although this was not going to happen either; luck, once again, had not been nice to me today. What about you?

Day 2t2w2to Riding mind

The train was extremely packed at this time of the evening and every inch counted to make the trip more bearable. The air had been used over and over again making it hard to catch some air in there. The windows, all closed in order to keep the air conditioning working, were covered with a thick, milky layer of human breath and heat.

Exhausted as she was after a very long day at work, she let her thoughts tell her  that changing her clothes would not suffice to get rid of all the filth; She would need a change of skin. Given the fact that getting the novel she had been reading for the last three weeks from her purse would be close to a challenge, let alone reading in these circumstances, she contented herself with the somewhat weird pastime of checking the faces of the individuals around her; Shinny, yawning, smiling, thoughtful, sleeping, upset faces all going in the same direction. Not only checking the face features was very pleasant, but also imagining what kind of person that face belonged to.

If you think a second about it, in your daily train ride you can be standing (or sitting if you get lucky) right next to the hardest working man, the sweetest mom, or the typical playful schoolchild. It is not always the case though; your neighbor can also be today’s groper, an abusive husband or simply the next nation-wide known serial killer. To let your mind wander on top of all those people’s heads, giving one life story to each face can be the perfect way of making the clock tick faster in the stuffy public transport.

When she was on her third elaborate fantasy about a guy’s face some inches away from her, presenting a tone and texture indicating he probably suffered from some kind of skin ailment, caused by all the alcohol he had consumed in the last months. Since his wife had left with the children in a one way trip disappearing completely from the man’s life this had been the man’s new routine. As it dictated, it had been entirely his fault (As it always is in the mind of a woman) for having fallen for one of his work colleagues; a younger, whiter, prettier but also much more ambitious woman who had extorted the man for a couple of months exchanging a big chunk of the guy’s monthly paycheck for keeping her lips sealed. When the man could not take it anymore, the younger, whiter, prettier woman had simply revealed every single detail to his wife with e-mails, voice mails, letters, pictures and checks of meals they had spent together but for which he had always paid.

The man had refused to be defeated in such a way, reason why he had decided to make the younger, whiter, prettier woman look older, red and uglier. This had been his first and only victim, until that train ride.

The train suddenly came to a halt after someone pulled the emergency lever, passengers standing stumbled and fell due to the powerful shove and the screams started to echo all through the wagon. Her body was found under a pile of strangers that had fallen like dominoes. People started in a numb and painful way to realize what had happened. All the oppressive weight on her fragile, skinny body just made it quicker and less painful, the puncture had been deep and direct to the heart, a couple of last attempts to grasp some air and it was over.

The guy with the skin ailment just kept his gaze on the body for some more seconds to make sure she was no longer here. Having confirmed this, he just became one with the mass waiting for help which would not take long to arrive from the closest station. He kept thinking that this time had felt much better than when he got rid of the younger, whiter, prettier woman. He had finally discovered his way, his passion.

"this will definitely not be the last time!"-she exclaimed, without even noticing she had said this out loud. Several pairs of staring eyes made her realize she was getting carried away, perhaps it was time to pick another face and start making up the next story from scratch.

Day 1o1n1e1 Dreaming of a girl

'I would like to ask you something if that is alright with you. Say what?oh, please go ahead, drink, no,no, no, I do not mind you ordering another glass of champagne, we will even order a bottle later if you are in the mood. Yes, about what I wanted to say; you sent me an unexpected message saying you could not stop giggling when you saw my face. There are only two reasons for such a reaction now that I think about it; One, you think my face is hilarious. Two, you feel about me the same way I feel about you. Is it number two by any chance?

Would these really be the words I would use tonight once I had her porcelain face in in front of my wooden rigid one? Think straight, think twice, think hard. This is a once in a lifetime chance, I might never have the chance of saying these words to that dream of a woman, or someone even similar for what is worth. If she rejects me tonight, everything will crumble.

She and tonight are the only things I could think about while the sweat drenched my thin layer of clothes, hot as hell in there. I was sure the cheap, rough fabric which gave me the rash at the end of the day, was partly responsible for the high temperature too. In addition, the same air breathed in and out over and over again with such a little room to circulate started giving the inside of the suit a nauseating stale odor after the first couple of minutes. I guess that actually being inside the guts of a big rat would have smelled somewhat similar.

The outside on the other hand was all joy and beauty. The round faced kids would not stop holding and pulling the gloves, sleeves and tail of the big black and white rat suit. Beautiful single moms in their early thirties pushing baby carriages and happy looking young couples were always really eager to have a picture taken with the rat disguise and the man inside it.

Will they look at those pictures sometime soon and wonder about the life of the man wearing the suit? I have had pictures taken before with guys who used to have the same crappy job and not a single second of my time had ever been put into wondering about those poor souls, their thoughts, dreams, fears or hopes. I was convinced no one would dare to think about mine either.

Nonetheless, I needed the money. All the heat, smell and selfish smiles represented more than 10 dollars an hour, lunch included if I could bear to wait until the restaurant stopped serving the noon shift. It was often a cold cheese sandwich and a soda but it allowed me to save even more. I needed to do this for 8 hours two days a week in order to have enough money to spend 3 hours with her once a month.

That place were she works at is quite an expensive one, located in one of the most luxurious areas of the city.What I like about it is, apart of the fact that she is always there, is that the rules are simple: The more drinks you order for you and her, the more time you got to spend together. I am sure she would love spending all night chatting with me even if I couln't pay any drinks at all , but work is work and that was hers. Being inside that stupid, big eared suit was mine.