I am a writer; and right now I feel an inner void consuming me. What drives me to this thought is not empty philosophical talk but a pain that torments me more each moment. I am trapped somewhere beyond this world, among tormented souls.
Today the weather is gloomy, like all autumn days when the drizzle drips from the withered branches onto the street. The café is quiet, but I hear many sounds. I have a Cuban cigar in my mouth that burns my throat. The waiter glances at me from the corner of her eye. Even when I’m looking elsewhere, I can feel those fiery eyes. Maybe she will be my next hero, provided there is a next one. I have grown old. My beard is turning white, I am sleepless at night and unmotivated during the day. I have grown old, and this will happen to everyone. While the young shout slogans, the old smile. Those who walk hunched over carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.
I am alone, and something inside me prevents me from falling in love. It seems my definition of love differs from who I loved. I want love to be simple, as simple as a kiss, as beautiful as a smile, and if that’s the price, I gladly accept it. I can’t shake the thought that if she were here, would this gun still feel heavy in my pocket? There are many ways to die; you can get tired of life, you can travel to the depths of the sea with pockets full of stones, or you can put a gun in your mouth and just smile. I can’t stop thinking about her; even though her only memento is a cold cross standing over a silent grave.
A carriage passes by on the street. The horse neighs. A woman in a light dress steps aside. She curses and continues on her way. A bird, separated from its flock, flies towards the gutter of the nearby building.
I adjust my glasses and intend to finish my words here, but she is still looking at me. What if her gaze is on me at that moment? What if it makes my hand tremble? I can’t do it in her presence… No! I can’t.
I answer her question with “coffee” and stare into her eyes for a moment. Her cheeks turn red, and she gives a shy smile. No! I can’t take that path with her either; I know what awaits me. I see her tears when she leaves my room… her sobs, accompanied by the rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the courtyard floor, pierce my heart like a dagger. No! I can’t touch her. She leaves, but my eyes can never fail to see the zest for life in her. Maybe she could be a balm, but my wounds have no cure. She will meet another boy; probably someone she loves, and when their eyes meet, her cheeks will turn red, and her legs will tremble. Maybe that newspaper boy will be a good husband… After all, I am old, and she is young… The newspaper boy talks about peace, and I smile.
Finally, she brings my coffee. She hides the shame on her cheeks under the dimple by her lip. When I’m paying attention, she averts her gaze. She brings the cup towards me. She brushes her black hair aside and walks away. Maybe she feels the same way I do; you can’t judge anyone by their appearance, even the killer who took her from me once waved a few pieces of paper in the air and talked about peace.
I can feel the cold metal on the top of my mouth. It’s as if my fingertip is touching the trigger. I can feel the girl’s gaze. I can hear the boy’s peace-filled cries. The girl is still smiling. Haven’t I put the gun in my mouth? Shouldn’t she be screaming and alerting people? Why doesn’t the smile leave her lips? I close my mouth and feel the softness of the cake under the pressure of my teeth. I pull the fork out of my mouth and savor the delightful sweetness of the cream.
Before the coffee gets cold, I want another piece of cake. Is this my last request from the cruel world around me? Just one more time! Please, let me try it one more time! I don’t want to forget that pleasure… No! I can’t take the usual path with her. Will she give me her hands? Will she open her arms to kiss me? Will the warmth of a kiss on my cheek free me from this thought? The sound of that horse running doesn’t leave me for a moment.
The coffee is getting cold. The boy has gone silent and says nothing. Several people move towards him. He shouts, asking for help. The girl runs into the street. She screams. What reason does she have to risk her life to save others? The girl is scared. Why does she remind me of her? I imagine her grave. Where is she? Where is she? I scream and leave the cup as it is. The door opens. I pull out the gun. The sound of the shot scares them away. The girl is shocked, unable to move.
Move, damn it! Move!
The horse approaches quickly. The whip dances in the air. The horse neighs; it runs over the girl. No one cares. Blood flows on the ground. In the girl’s fixed gaze, the boy’s cheeks turn red. The woman curses. She straightens her clothes. Indifferently, she steps aside. Where am I standing? What is my hand doing in my pocket? Wasn’t I supposed to shoot? Didn’t I kill the girl? I drop the gun and fall to my knees. The boy shouts and talks about peace once again…
