Somewhere in Manhattan. DayIV
He stills lost the conscious many times because of the flu. When I suffered it, it was something weirder than strange. It was a slight mix of deja-vu and future, the suddenly sensation of past, the extreme feeling of peace and the rare conviction that something wrong was going to happen… and it was observing all, even before it had born. We called it ‘the creature’ like an internal medical joke. It was a Dr Mirror’s idea.
‘You know, Lorraine’ he said. ‘There’s only thing more scaring than death: the conviction you cannot dead. Imagine a creature drinking your blood near exhaustion… it drinks and you can feel the expectation of the death, of the end of the suffering… it drinks and the death approaches you… even so near that you can try to touch it… feeling its breathing and its cold sight… but then, our creature suddenly stops drinking and the death has gone… but the suffering is still with us… for all the eternity.’
He used ‘the creature’ as a metaphor of the virus. The virus works like this creature, pulling out and changing every drop of the body and every memory of the infected person. The person will be still there, but it will feel like another person because the kiss of the creature. Now I can see it, now I can see the cause and the effect of the virus being used in the origin of the story, in its trembling heart. It’s sweating right now, deeding little by little, being consumed, at the same time being fed with the infected remains of its rotten memories.
‘Can you hear me, doctor.’ No answer. ‘Can you hear me, Alex.’ he finally answers me with a silent sound. ‘Remember now? You were a young heir when something happened in Paris. She was like me… she has my smile and my body and my hair too. Imagine it, Alex. You were studying laws… you can imagine whatever you want, it doesn’t matter at all. The only important thing you must remember is a strange book in the shelves called ‘Flu Project’. You had a dog called Jack too. In this dream, you are in New York City but you know this is not the city of your dreams because you still remember the nights in Paris, clear nights full of dreams and passions, full of Love for her… full of pain too… and you wrote everything when you came back home, when you came back here with your father. You saved your life in the accident but your mother and your brother died… Was it in France? You have a strange relationship with this country, Alex… you found the love but you found something appalling too: you couldn’t love her, you can’t love me, Alex.’
**Fake Game, serial novel by Martin Cid. First Chapter http://yareah.com/?p=1846