The After.

El siguiente cuento corto fue escrito mientras estaba estudiando para mis exámenes finales del semestre de invierno en Alemania. Lo que les comento fue en Febrero del 2009, y honestamente no sé cómo fue posible que escribiera algo y luego lo olvidara tan rápido. Un año después, les presento este cuento corto que escribí en inglés, supongo para poder pasárselo a mis amigos internacionales. Aunque un tanto oscuro, disfrútenlo.

---

I wake up, my head feeling like it were about to explode like the Big Bang itself. Hours tick by as I stare with a blank face at the scruffy clock on the wall. I don’t know precisely where I am, and I think I don’t want to know, either. The room I find myself in is pretty austere by any standards. I scan my surroundings, noting everything inside of the four walls with meticulous precision. Counting the clock on the far wall, I can see a table, with a glass of water, a plate with an apple, and a dusty red envelope with the writing of “While Waiting For The End”. Beside the table there is a chair, which looks particularly uncomfortable, and a lone bulb, which eerily moves like a pendulum and is the only source of light.

                Besides from that, the room is quite unwelcoming. The walls are painted a sick shade of green, and are chipped away. Upon closer inspection, I can see what looks like scratches on them, as if someone tried to crawl his way out of the room. No wonder, since there are no windows, no walls. I am bewildered to realize that I hadn’t noticed that before. How did I enter this place? And more importantly right now, how am I supposed to get out?

Seeing as there is no possible solution for the dilemma at hand, and knowing full well that panic will not aide me, I sit down on the chair. Unbeknownst to me, minutes tick by as I stare with a blank face at the scruffy clock on the wall. It is very interesting how hypnotizing one can become when there are no stimuli gnawing at one’s senses. Eventually, I take a sip of the water, and pick up the envelope. It is surprisingly heavy, as if something metallic is inside.

I run my hand over its surface, and then begin to open it. What I read is so unnerving, I let go of the piece of paper immediately, and come close to jumping out of the chair, reaching behind for the comfort of the wall. Gathering my breath again, I go back to the table, grab the sheet again and standing up, proceed to read the first lines.

“Greetings, Mr. Allucard, and welcome to your End.

You might wonder why you are here, how I know your name, and who I might be; although I have a feeling you already have answers to all these questions. This is justice, Allucard, in its purest and most righteous form. Not only that, this is revenge, this is redemption, this… this is the future. The future of your kind.

I may be going ahead of myself, Allucard, but you know the cost of the course of action you took. You knew well aware the risks at hand, and you decided to ignore them. Well, now it’s time to be participant of the consequences of said actions.

Don’t bother yourself finding a way out of the room you are in, as you may have already found out, there isn’t any. And this is because this room was built around you. So, now I give you an option. Better yet, I give you the choice. And this is no ordinary one, it’s the one you thought you had, the one you imposed upon hundreds of thousands of people.

I give you the choice of living until you run out of air, or offing yourself with the pistol inside of this envelope. One bullet, that’s all it takes, Allucard”.

First I can’t believe what I just read; it seems so impossible, so unreal. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the walls are chipped. Have they done this on purpose? Are they trying to mess with my mind? Now panic really starts to settle in, and I start charging against the walls, my futile attempts to escape being time and again thwarted by the cold rejection of those walls.

I break the table in my fury, as well as the chair. Realizing I have no other option, I slump to the ground, tired, and contemplate the handgun, the glass of water, and the apple. My throat is parched from exertion, and I drink the water. Then I eat the apple, even though in my present situation it tastes like ashes in my mouth.

Carefully weighing my options, I decide to wait until there is almost no air left, and, if it becomes too unbearable, then I’ll use the gun. Silently, I wait until I can feel myself being drained of my strength, of my consciousness, and I reach for the hand gun.

With painstaking slowness and careful movements, I point the gun to my head. A thought crosses my mind, about the choices that I made. I regret nothing. Still, there might have been a way to act differently. If it was, I never knew. I close my eyes for what I believe to be the last time, and the second before I pull the trigger feels like an eternity. When I finally do, all I hear is a metallic click.

Confused, I pull the trigger again, to the same result. Realization starts to sink in, as I frantically check the gun. No bullets. Finally noticing that I have been played up until my last moments, I scream on the top of my lungs, as all around me the world dissolves into darkness.

---

Emilio (23c0n).