Post by account_disabled on Dec 24, 2023 3:50:32 GMT -5
Lucio didn't go to work that day, but he couldn't understand why. In reality he didn't remember having a job at all, even though a phone call from a stranger, who introduced himself as his office manager, suggested otherwise. He didn't know what to say to the man who bombarded him with questions, so he hung up, looking at the phone now like an object he'd never seen before. He dropped heavily onto the sofa, casting his gaze around the large living room. Where was she? Whose house was that? , she wondered.
Doubts crowded into her mind without finding peace. He felt tired, but not physically, rather in spirit. A thousand confused thoughts formed and disintegrated in his head without arriving at a definite form. He felt a sense of surrender, of abandonment, which made him apathetic and Special Data melancholy. A few days passed and Lucio was still there, sitting on that sofa, looking like a homeless man. He was dirty and smelled. His pants were wet with something he couldn't name. He had felt a stimulus, days before, new to him, which had transformed into a sensation of warm humidity.
And that feeling came back to visit him several times. He felt a sort of emptiness in his stomach, which he had had since the first day, vague at first, then increasingly stronger, until it became painful. The telephone continued to ring in that silent house, but that sound, which Lucio no longer recognized, became less insistent as time passed. He was no longer able to get up from the sofa and not only because of the strength that was slowly abandoning him, but because, above all, he didn't know how to get up. He spent his days staring at the opposite wall, drool dripping from his half-open mouth, until he stopped breathing and, without remembering anything, he died.
Doubts crowded into her mind without finding peace. He felt tired, but not physically, rather in spirit. A thousand confused thoughts formed and disintegrated in his head without arriving at a definite form. He felt a sense of surrender, of abandonment, which made him apathetic and Special Data melancholy. A few days passed and Lucio was still there, sitting on that sofa, looking like a homeless man. He was dirty and smelled. His pants were wet with something he couldn't name. He had felt a stimulus, days before, new to him, which had transformed into a sensation of warm humidity.
And that feeling came back to visit him several times. He felt a sort of emptiness in his stomach, which he had had since the first day, vague at first, then increasingly stronger, until it became painful. The telephone continued to ring in that silent house, but that sound, which Lucio no longer recognized, became less insistent as time passed. He was no longer able to get up from the sofa and not only because of the strength that was slowly abandoning him, but because, above all, he didn't know how to get up. He spent his days staring at the opposite wall, drool dripping from his half-open mouth, until he stopped breathing and, without remembering anything, he died.