ALPHA & OMEGA

AN OLD MELODY (chapter 1 of 6)

"And I Know I could shoot a hundred

cause war is war and this isn't a murder.

In this place, there's a fit of anger

but I don't care, I'll go outside the trench and..." (*)

I wake up to the old song set in my alarm clock, just like years ago when I was studying microbiology. Nights of smoke and burning the midnight oil.

It's been an eternity from that, when technology was a toy that made us feel safe. The good old times. A terrifyingly fast sunk world of shallow feelings which left in its place a nightmare populated by hungry dead people.

My name is Nathan Gripp and, with no intention to sound pretentious I can say I am the last man alive in Cuerno Meseta, an exclusive suburb in the hills surrounding this doomed city.

"...rising, rising, rising,

to the clamour,

rising, rising, rising,

to the fucking wall..."

In the exact moment that I turn off the alarm I regret doing it. This oppressing silence is squashing my brain. My migraine is still not going to give me a break.

I stand by the windows in the living room and check the strength of its grilles. Outside, the darkness retreats against the light of a new day. I look at the sky in search of nonexistent formations of birds in their migration. The light is faint, ashen. The sun still missing. I'm attending to this monotonous show I cannot get used to, isolated in this hideout which is both jail and shelter.

The city is melting down. Explosions follow one another, randomly, like in an uncontrollable devil dance. Underground pipes blast into gaseous jets. Centenarian skyscrapers burn next to neighbourhoods of slate roof houses.

The heirs of this modern hell roam these streets, voracious, in search for new victims. Relentlessly.

I've seen them roam lost in the surroundings, stalking. Once they were my neighbours and workmates. There are also some good friends among them... some of which were casual confidantes in this bed. The good old times.

I'm ready. There's no use in losing my time on checking my equipment. I try the weight of my cue. It seems a lame excuse for a defense right now. I can't hide anymore in here. Supplies are running out. I have to give it a try.

I hum the old chorus in my head:

"...rising, rising, rising,

through the fire,

rising, rising, rising..."

I flop down on the leather sofa, fill up my glass with a good dose of bourbon, light a cigarette and exhale a long cloud of smoke.

-Enjoy it, Nat. This may be your last one -I tell to myself quietly while bitterly smiling.