Infinity minus one - prologue

Yes, it's just an English version on "Nieskończoność minus jeden", just to practise. Or you can use it for your English lessons. :D




   Hello, I'm Arthur Kirkland and I'm going to commit suicide.

   Well, 'I'm going to' is probably not the right expression – it suggests that I can do something about that… Well, no. And before you'll start telling me things like 'Life is beautiful, killing yourself is only escaping from problems, blah blah' I must tell you: there is a dead corpse in basement in my house. To be specific – my father. Yes, I killed him. I didn't wanted to, but…

   God, I'm starting to talk nonsense. What I'm saying now doesn't really matter; I can't change anything now, it happened. What I can do now is waiting for the police to notice what happened, and they'll lock me up. Excellent.

   I can't fix it. I'm throwing my phone to the wall; device is breaking in millions of pieces.

   “I don't want to know you anymore.”

   Damn, we know each other for years and he is sending me this?! I don't even remember what exactly happened then… Ech, I'm straying from the subject again. Of course I know what I did – how could I forget it? - but I don't want to torture myself again. Besides, it doesn't really matter…

   In the end I'm here, holding a gun and carelessly opening the chamber. Click. Click. I see the cartridge, I don't see cartridge.

   Me and mother were always complaining with dad that he have a weapons in our house, but, well, it's kind of useful now – I don't need to gobble some drugs or hang myself. And she probably don't care what is happening to me. She run away and she'll not come back, I know. She'll must manage with it, but she is stronger than most people can suppose. But, well – as everything, she have her own borders, and she just… broke this time. What is happening to her? Is she going to live on her own now, or maybe she'll come back?

   Why am I thinking about this? I'm going to die anyway. It's not my problem.

   Eh, worrying about future will probably be with me till the end. Just why?

   Too many questions.

   Click. Click. I see cartridge, I don't see cartridge. Just like hide and seek game I was playing when I was a kid… I'm here, and then…

   Man, what a mess. I'm brain is dying even before I shot myself.

   I'm affixing gun to my head. Or maybe it's pistol? Does that matter?

   I would like to know what will kill me. This bloody detail is making me insane, drilling a hole in my head more than missiles.

   Well, okay. Pulling the trigger is what should I do now, isn't it? And then – the end of problems. End of this fucked up day, week, life. God, thanks for giving me a gift of life, but I screwed up.

   I'm pressing the trigger lightly. It's hard to push it, it needs more strength than I thought. Maybe it's better; I have some extra seconds to think. Sometimes in films it is said that “life passes before your eyes.” Bullshit. I had been thinking far too much about my life to do it once again, damn, why it's so hard to pull the trigger…

   No, I can't, it's too silent. I must have any noise, something, that'll drown my thoughts, or I’ll definitely get mad.

   I'm putting away my gun, metal greets with the plastic pad with knock. The weapon looks weird, it just not belong here. It should be in my father's cabinet, like always. Not there. Not in this mess in my room.

   I'm turning my head looking for radio, I find it, then turn it on. Hum, hum… I'm quickly witching on some local station; the women with happy voice is telling that in ten minutes will be news. Will I live long enough to hear it?

   No, probably not. I'm waiting too much to do this. A minute more and I'll probably try doing something super stupid. Better to do this now.

   Some noisy, quick song; girl sings about a boy that she likes. Does every single song must be about a girl in love? Really? Can't it be any about a boy who is killing himself in his own house after his own world collapsed?

   Oh, it's finally time for philosophical thoughts! I really must do this now, or otherwise I'll definitely become mad as hell.

   I'm grabbing a gun and once again affixing it to my head. Will I hit and kill myself quickly? Or will I just super damage myself and spend rest of my life being a plant?

   Well, it's just a one way to find out.

   I'm taking deep breath and closing my eyes. I must calm down, because if I'll miss, it'll be bad. Quick move and I'll have no time to think that I'm dead...

   Now.

   With all my strength I'm finally pressing this damn trigger, why it's so hard to…

   I hear the shot, feel the pain, my body hits the floor...

***

   Wait, what?

   If I'm dead, then why I feel that I'm lying on the floor? I shot wrong and I didn't killed myself? Or maybe the opposite – I'm dead, and when I'll open my eyes, I'll see dead body?!

   I really have exuberant imagination. A moment and I'll see some pink, fluffy unicorns everywhere. God, I swear I'll never have drugs again..

   Okay, but what happened? And I don't have a gun. I dropped it? When? And where?

   I'm turning around, scanning the floor. Not even a clue. Poof – and it disappeared. I don't have any questions.

   Accidentally I'm hooking the look with the mirror. Blond hair, green eyes – noting to be worry about. Absolutely nothing that tells me what I did. Or what I think I did.

   Maybe I have some drugs and I have hallucinations? Maybe after killing my father I got insane and it all didn't really happen? Even radio is off – then turning it on must be the hallucination too. Does it mean that I must go to my father's cabinet and (again) kill myself?    God, why…

   I'm standing up and notice a phone on my bed – still untouched. But I clearly remember throwing it and breaking it! It couldn't be a hallucination... could it?

   Patter. Steps. Someone is moving in the next room, near the front door. Police came? How could they notice everything so quick?! Someone heard shots? No, wait – it was a hallucination, yes? So what's going on?

   I'm leaving my room wobbling – adrenaline lefts me, I don't feel this nervousness, like before. Now the only thing that guide me is this beautiful feeling of slight interest – really meaning that I don't really care.

   Step by step, slowly, not moving too fast…

   The corridor is clean, everything in the right places – my mum have always been a perfectionist and she was getting mad when it wasn't perfect order here, so me and dad have no choice than cleaning everything two times a day, arranging trinkets in ideal symmetry, not even letting a speck of dust to be here. It was normal.

   Well, no. Ten minutes ago I grabbed the beautiful, carved letter knife that lies in the glass-case and stabbed my father to dead. And now everything looks unaffected.

   Clatter. Looks like someone is opening a cupboards in the kitchen. Who is he or she looking for? What is happening?

   Another step, and another; then I see who is in the kitchen. I'm wide opening my eyes. No. How?!

   My father is pouring beer to a mug like nothing had happened. I look at him in shock.
   But… A while ago… I killed him! I remember stabbing a knife between his ribs! Looking, how he is slowly bleeding up!

   He scowls at me from his swollen eyes.

   'What?' he barks. I'm just shaking my head. What I am supposed to do now? How should I act? What happened? How is this possible?

   I walk over him and poke with a finger. I feel flabby flesh, nothing abnormal.

   'What are you doing?' My father rotates, looking at me with anger. 'Go to your room.'

   'I'm sorry', I'm saying quietly. I'm sorry for what?! For killing him?!

   My dad is raising his eyebrows. He doesn’t catch that either.

   'I could not give this pictures to mum', I'm clarifying. Ah, yes. If I didn't do that, nothing would have happened; my mother wouldn't run away, father wouldn't go berserk and I wouldn't kill him… Well, at least looks like this final thing doesn't count now.

   'Oh' my dad mumble. He pulls sip from mug. 'Arthur, now go to your bedroom. It was a hard day.'

   You don't say, goes through my head. Civilly I'm going out of this space to my room, locking doors. I'm sitting on my bed, grab a phone and stare at it.

   I did something. I don't know what, but I definitely did something.

   Suddenly telephone rang, and I almost have a heart attack. A message. From who? Some unknown number. Error? Maybe, but…

   Contents of the message:

   You are not going insane. You are just waking up.