Álvaro Mario RIVERO Avilés
As he was lying on the ground of that dark narrow street, with an arm broken and the weapon of his killer pointing at his eyes, everything Federico Damian could say was “Today is February 11th”. When Federico Damian saw the cold dark eyes of the man with the gun, he lost all hope: “I won’t see her again” he slightly murmured, as if wishing the wind would take his words to “her”. Suddenly, he saw a smile on the lips of the man who wanted him dead, and heard a voice unlike any he had ever listened before, which seemed to come from another dimension: “Today is my birthday” the to be murderer said at the time he put the revolver down.
It was a cold winter evening; the streets were desert, the only sound it was possible to hear were the heavy rain drops which hit the puddles like pebbles. Federico Damian though how much he hated the rain; even if he did not remember why, he knows that he has always hated the rain. In that moment he remembered that it was raining the day he met Alicia. “I met the love of my life on February 11th” Federico Damian innocently said. He knew that it was not important for that man, whose only intention was to finish his life, but even so, he said it like if he wanted to write that thought down on a dairy and let these words printed somewhere.
Since the moment the man put the gun down he had barely move around Federico Damian there outside the dilapidated porch of the old house where he finally caught him. Now Federico Damian paid attention to that man who was threatening his life, he was a light tanned person, around 25-year-old, probably 1.80 m, and medium build. For no reason, this description brought to Federico Damian’s mind the picture of Alexander the great.
A sound interrupted Federico Damian’s dissertations about his favorite history character. “Who is the love of your life?” The killer asked with the same voice which made Federico Damian felt the death on his bones. “Who won’t you see again?” He insisted, signing the Federico Damian’s destiny. “Alicia, Alicia Wong.” Federico Damian responded trembling, not because of fear but because of the pain of his broken arm. “She was my girlfriend”.
The sweet face of Alicia came to the mind of Federico Damian; Alicia was a 22 year old beautiful brunette girl, with almond-shaped eyes, which were a sign of her Asiatic origins, and a friendly smile that broke the heart of Federico Damian; she used to study international relationships at the same college where Federico Damian was studying history.
“I met her in the library” and a flimsy smile appeared on the face of Federico Damian as he remembered that February, a year ago, they were both looking for the same book: Winter’s Tales, but there was only one book, so they decided to share it and they went to her flat. He stopped reminiscing since he felt the man gave him a strong look. He could feel Federico Demian’s happy memories, and made him stop, without saying a word, without even moving..
The rain was decreasing until almost disappearing, but the temperature was still falling down. Then, Federico Damian remembered how much he hated the cold. He could feel it in the light rain, and the cold cement floor, and his dry blood. He was wearing a tiny, new blue sweatshirt while his killer was wearing a light coat, enough to cover him from the weak winter of La Paz. Now he lamented when he rejected the invitation of Alicia of going abroad with her. Since the day she left to the United States, nothing had been the same on his life, Federico Damian thought, but nothing as strange as this day.
This morning, Federico Damian received a phone call from Alicia who asked him to do dinner. At this moment, with his arm broken and the revolver on the hand of the man who wants to kill him, that date has become an unreachable dream for him. Right now, Federico Damian thought, Alicia is sitting on a table of that Cuban restaurant waiting for me, maybe crying for me, and even, hating me. He knew how much efforts had she made to go back to La Paz; she went against his father’s wishes and left her current job to meet her past. And now she is alone again, only because Federico Damian was caught. The man with gun, the unknown force that stopped this date, seemed to rejoice in Federicos thoughts.
A car slowly went straight past; Federico Damian restrained a cry for help, knowing that it would mean his immediate dead. Maybe they are in their own troubles, Federico Damian though, trying to hide his fear for himself. He did not know how his arm got broken; he just remembered the sound of the bone breaking and the terrible pain which followed his fall while running on the wet street to save his life from someone who pointed at him with a gun.
Down the narrow street where Federico Damian and his attacker where in communion, was the small Cuban restaurant where everything he loved was entering. “I’ll have a date” said the man raising his revolver with his voice which make Federico Damian understand that life and death are nothing but what we do with them, then he closed his eyes and died.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Álvaro Mario RIVERO Avilés.
Published on e-Stories.org on 18.02.2016.