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I was free to choose between a wide range of free time activities …
I abandoned myself to … dreams that set in the space
surrounding me and whose main character was dressed just like me…
I went down to Edgar and raised the subject…
You
need to stop worrying. Two minutes is nearly half nothing …
We
were walking past the front gardens …
Do
you know how the world is beyond that mountain? … humans who
aren't like us … humans who … don’t respect
nature … force it into their delusions… behind their
fancy phones, … They’re a bunch of well-organised
psychos!
I
had no memory of a day I hadn’t slept on the upper room of the
village chateau and gone downstairs the next day to speak to Edgar. I
didn’t know why I did it either. I had never told others what I
was to say to him. Good thing he always listened. Edgar had given me
everything — education, family, leisure. Why he never asked for
anything in return, that would remain a mystery.
I
used to play outside with my friends, far away from the village. We
played “tag” there, as “hyde-and-seek” was a
tad difficult in the plains. By noon, before we went back home, I
asked them about the things Edgar had told me about humans living
beyond the mountains. They were dumbstruck. Was there anyone like us
outside the village? one of them asked. Well, not like us, I told
them. I was scaring them, so I pretty much gave up trying asking
questions. Edgar was the only one who knew…
One
day he brought me to the basement. There was a telly and two
comfortable seats. We sat down and he turned the telly on. The telly
showed a man lying on the ground, another one pointing him a gun.
“Please
don’t kill me!”
He
didn’t know why they wanted to kill him (we didn’t
either!) The suspense was getting increasingly higher with each
close-up of his so-called-friends’ faces — also with the
recurring tune coming from a dissonant string orchestra.
“I
will
kill you…” was he saying at the terrified look of the
man he was pointing the gun at, “unless you switch to Zotran
mobile.” Everybody looks at the assassin, the suspense they
were feeling moments before gives rise to an unusual interest
showering their faces.
“Haven’t
you heard about it? Well, allow me to explain.” And he turns
into the thin window that would separate us from the likely assassin
— yes, the
fine
screen. You can have twenty thousand minutes of free calls to all
networks, as long as you — and that’s all you gotta do —
pay a hundred bucks a month.”
The
man in suffering pleads, “Is that all I gotta do?”
“Sounds
like a lotta money for just a bunch of free calls!” said Edgar,
trying to rescue me from those thoughts. Too late, though! I was
glued, relentless, impassive, glassy eyes on the telly. “Oh,
you’re too young for this stuff”, he finally said, almost
forgetting me, then he switched off the telly.
During
that month of May, Edgar kept bringing me to the basement to turn the
telly on. He wanted me to see how humans were beyond the mountains.
It was harder on the hotter days, when you could smell the apples
from the veranda. Edgar said it gave me strength to stay in front of
the telly.
It
didn’t take me too long to figure out commercials were flooding
the old telly. They could go from some short ten seconds to the
mighty length of a film. Those could go for as long as seven hours,
advertising included. And sometimes it was even harder to set apart
the commercial ending from the aesthetic one, especially in the key
points. And this was starting to get more frequent.
“Oh,
I remember now!”
I
had already seen that ending. In the original film, one of the
so-called-friends killed this and every other man, except for the one
lying on the ground. It was then that he walked up onto him and said,
“I love you so much.” That was when he ran away, and this
is how it ended.
Edgar
was answering a question I didn’t get to ask, but I still
couldn’t understand who was the meaner — the assassin or
the people who created his story?
I
asked for him to turn the telly back on. Knowing how sensitive I was
to this kind of things, he gave in.
A
young miss sitting down with a nice feller at a restaurant. At some
point he’s about to propose to her. However, no sooner had he
found words to indulge himself in, than the miss forcefully sneezed,
drenching herself in muck. The people around filled themselves with
disgust at the sheer sight of the young grimy miss, except for the
broom-to-be — he was laughing out loud. She desperately looks
for a handkerchief, but the poor thing is so filled with slime, she
herself — if she would be able to watch herself unconscious
from outside — would be impressed.
“Want
an handkerchief?”
Humiliated,
the miss accepts it.
He’s
going to give her one. He stops.
“However,
I might have a better solution, if you know what I mean.
Close
up of winking eye.
“And
what is it?” asks the young miss with sudden interest —
interest which was shared equally, both in and out of the screen. The
broom-to-be then takes something out of his pocket. As in a magic
trick, a teal pill.
“This
pill will keep you from sneezing hard.”
“And
how’ that?”
I
gotta explain, don’t I?” he replies with an affected
dullness.
Wink,
wink.
“The
pill is teal, like the mucus out of your nose. The two attract each
other mutually, like meh and ya.” So when you take it, the
mucus will be seamlessly pulled inwards. And that will keep you from
sneezing hard, cupcake! But, in the case you’ll have to do it,
you’ll at least have just the right amount of time to squeeze
your nose.
“Ooh,
thank you, sweetheart!
A
funereal silence permeated through the restaurant — everyone
was waiting for the handsome wooer to say something to the young
miss. He opened his mouth, but no word was coming out.
“Well,
I know what you’re gonna ask. My answer is… Yes! Yes!! I
love you, honey.”
At
the wedding, there comes the time when they let the bride kiss the
groom. It is in that moment when their mouths come closer that the
woman is about to sneeze. However, though costly, she’s able to
control herself. The groom smiles and turns back at the screen.
“Long
story short, we’ve rid ourselves of the lousy muck astray! Take
the teal pill, and keep the slimy snot away. For all day.
Outside,
a slice of teal snot rose up from the stairs and walked away, all
packed up. As it was disappearing beyond the horizon, a tiny print
text was sliding below, and a sped-up voice could be heard over.
“The
teal pill does not have the same effects in all people. It is not
intended to diagnose, mitigate, treat, cure or avoid any disease or
health condition. Contact a health care provider immediately if you
suspect you have a medical problem or chain reaction.” Then the
screen went black, as the voice slowed down, “Now available at
a pharmacy near you.”
Edgar
laughed scornfully and looked at me. At some point they would offer
the spray to prevent hives. He then changed the channel. This was the
way he had found for me not to become hooked — somehow a black
mirror for a few seconds would bring me to that basement again.
Two
characters were involved in some kind of raunchy, but serious,
activity. In this kind of situation (speaking of commercials) you
bump into everything around you. Although in this specific situation
(speaking of the action) there is always something missing. Something
you cannot finish without.
He
takes a piece of foil from his pocket. “That’s not
enough.” He unfolds the foil in two parts. “Not yet,”
she protests. He unfolds the pair in four parts. “More, I want
more!” she shouts. Confused, he — and confused we —
unfolds the quartet in eight, then in sixteen parts, and waits for
the verdict. “Yes!” she squeals with excitement. He
throws himself in (to where?) — as a lewd voice is heard over a
picture of the main foil.
“Now
unfoldable, so the protection never stops being enough… with
the same ol’ discretion.
Edgar
promptly turns the telly off. “No!” I scream in agony.
“But
I want to keep watching…”
He
would leave me there, but there was a chance of me being not able to
catch an apple in the back of the gardens. “Alright…”
I finally said. I went in front of him, but as soon as we left the
cave I turned around. “I already know what I want for my
birthday.”
“What?!
You don’t even have a phone.”
“Oh,
not that!”
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