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, 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.
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