I made this invention to prove everyone that, "If doctor's can't heal people, well technology can."
It's already 6:00pm and my back starts to ache.Imagine you're sitting half of the day, so it's really reasonable. So I decided to stand and leave what I'm doing to take some rest.
The house feels emptier than a crypt. I can't just sit here watching the walls, no matter how prettily I've painted them. I need to see real people, talk and laugh. I have to hear their stories and jokes. They give me an energy I can't get any other way. I don't care for television much, but a good drama and tub of ice cream happens sometimes. So long as it's prerecorded and I can skip through the adverts, I'm happy. Life is precious, who's got time for all those commercials? I think they've had enough of my time since I was three. My time is a strict split between responsibilities and play. They both feed my soul, I need the loud and the quiet joys of life, a bit of peace with plenty of wild times mixed in.
And to escape my boredom, I walk into the bar, colonise the booth and order a round of neat spirits. That's how I get the night started.
I rest my hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and push. Rough wooden splinters cut into my palm; shards of black paint crumble to the floor. The hinges squeal as though they are a warning, but their plea is silenced by a wall of noise. Laughter overpowers the jukebox. Conversations swirl in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hides within the collaboration of mephitic odours. A sharp smell of drink wafts towards me, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. There's even a hint of sick tainting the fragrance of the room.
" 1 Gold-coloured Moselle, Please." I commanded the robotic bartender.
.....
Meanwhile, he gave me the whisky.
"Here's your order Sir!".
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes, breathing in a fragrance that only years in an oak barrel can achieve.
The soft amber colour belied the harsh taste. The whiskey burned on the way down and I spluttered like a child. Then to make up for his apparent foolishness I downed the rest in one shot and asked for another.
After that I ask for another one and so on. Until, all I can here is the sound of a Saxophones. Everytime I get drunk, the only thing I can hear always is a sound of a fvcking Saxophone. Like, how that instrument arrived in my brain seeming to bypass my ears I didn't know, but the feeling is so strange.
"OK I really need to Go home" those are my last words before leaving the bar.
I went out and suddenly knocked down on the street due to drunkenness.My head suddenly hurt for an inexplicable reason.
I opened my eyes and I felt that I was on the other place.
The rotting wooden door creaked slowly open and echoing footsteps invaded the silence that hung like a cloak around the house. A thick carpet of dust clung to every object, the rays of light shining through the shattered glass windows catching on the particles suspended in the stagnant air. I moved deliberately, dust billowing into clouds as I passed.
I continued to move through the house, kicking up more dust until it was difficult to see through the billions of particles that now swirled in the air. Then I came to a door, faded green, paint curling with age, brass handle almost consumed by a thick network of cobwebs, reaching out, I turned it.
A woman sitting in a chair, bruised with her face closed, I could see the marks of the large wounds and the dripping of blood from her head.
"Miss are you ok?" I asked
But she was still silent.
I walked a few steps until I reached her.
I checked her pulse, and knows that she is still alive.
I suddenly backed away when I saw a man coming.
Wearing black trousers, slacks, khakis, button-downs,polos,ties and with hus sneakers shoes. I'm sure that he's a business man.
He stepped closer and approached the woman and slapped her freakin' face.
The slap was as loud as a clap and stung her face. It had been an open-handed smack and it had left a red welt behind.
Just below her eye was a small cut where the ring had caught her. She staggered backwards, clutching her face, eyes watering.
"You wrecked our business Cataliya. That kind of stuff is under of my control an I know you know that, Once it was wrecked, every hardworks of mine will just turn into ashes, but I know you envy me! Because of what? Our father loves me more than you huh bitch? "
I am surprised when the woman slowly opened her eyes and answered in a calm but combative voice.
"It is my Job, to cure the sick person. You know what? Your selfishness will be the first thing that will drown you . You dickhead, deserves to rot in hell." she glared and take a deep sigh.
"And what are you thinking? That you will be called a hero because of what you did? Literally no way, now Cataliya, face me and ill show you what real demon is. I'll show you how to end one's life. Take a breathe for one last time Cataliya. Close your eyes. And as you open it you'll be burn in hell,you will be the first one to rot in hell. GOODBYE MY DEAREST SISTER."
"AHHAHAHAHA"
Boom*
A very loud explosion from the gun rang.
The bullet spat out of his hand, red in the darkness. It hit the woman in the chest, propelling her down in her chair. For a few seconds she looked up at me as if trying to admire me one last time. Then the black smoke folded over her.