cryogenics

His pulse was running slowly through the monitor, at a slow, monotonous pace. The melancholic light of dawn went through the blinds, illuminating the gray porcelain floor, bringing a single point of heat to the cold and morbid environment. The small window on the door showed countless people at their fastest pace, going from one side to the other, like smudges. A woman with an ill-adjusted ponytail, a pale, slender teenager, a man who carried weight in his face and a sleepy girl, watching people had become his only hobby.

He had counted how many times, each shovel on the ceiling fan, had slowly rotated, grinding the iron in contact with iron, an annoying sound that had become a background track to the environment, a routine and usual sound, distressing.

— We need to talk — The female voice in the room exclaimed, and almost forgot that she was there, sitting next to his bed, with a self-help book on her lap — and this time you need to listen.

She nodded. He continued to stare at the pins on the opposite wall, which contained some pamphlets and sayings, white leaves to the browns, one with the phrase “Can you do it if you believe you can do it”, another with “Do we need to talk? Call 7328-3761” and finally “Turn your sadness into joy! Join our services today.” He smiled, a forced and incredulous smile, but genuine.

— I thought you’d stopped all this joking — your voice vibrated fatigued — I have a hard day today, and I’m here again, so give me a little attention, okay?

She turned to her, witnessing her face, her white but not pale skin tone, her pointy nose and her small eyes, her pink apples and her thin chin. Two strands of her dark hair hung over her face, which she soon gave herself the duty to straighten behind her ears. She dressed as her work ordered, as social as possible.

For a second he thought she had a bad night’s sleep, in her deepest inner self, but by the woman’s appearance, she seemed to be as rested as possible. She stared at the watch in silence, and soon after, she raised her eyes again at him, who was staring at her without any expression.Who was she herself? Her sister or her mother? Her sister, yes.

— Tell me how you feel.

— Agony — The voice vibrated hoarse down her throat.

The rain poured through the window, falling from the dark clouds that covered the sky, flooding the city.

— How long ago? — Flynt wrote down avulsely on his block hanging from a clipboard.

— I have no idea.

She stood up from her armchair, forcing him to look up until she found hers, who stared at him in a mixture of anger and contempt. He didn’t bother, he was already used to it.

— The keys are in her coat, ask for a taxi, the money is in her wallet, everything is counted - she crossed the room until she had her hand stuck to the silver doorknob, and as soon as she opened the door, she looked at the young man in bed, who was still silent - no more medicine.

He slammed the door hard, letting the knock echo through Etan’s cloudy thoughts, next to the squeaking of the air conditioner stuck to the wall above the door.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. He counted the seconds it would take Elen to get to the flight of stairs, and twelve more to get to the first floor, where he would seek the first passage of air to breathe the pure oxygen of the day outside, escaping the smell of hospital rust.

The unconscious wanted to feel the shy light warm up their frozen skin. He dragged his legs out of bed, touching the cold floor with his bare feet, feeling a chill crawl all over his body. He got rid of the sheets, being hit by the complete cold that made that environment. He arose from the bed, walking through the room, the limp and unpaved steps almost made him stumble on himself, until he stood in front of the glass, the rays of the sun welcoming his skin like a hug, but in a certain way, there was still something wrong, many things in fact, but what he only felt was the great and unmistakable solid feeling of emptiness. As an imaginary member, something that had become part of himself.

He wondered when he had become an empty shell. A draft. A drop of rain on the ocean. A dry leaf among so many others.

— I think it’s their absence - he lifted his wrist, staring at the silver watch that marked five in the afternoon. Session over.

— I’m not going to increase your dose, Collin,” the psychiatrist said, “I need to talk to your parents.

— Good luck - He got up from the couch, going to the hook next to the door.When he closed his eyes again, visualizing only a curtain in various shades of red and black, someone opened the bedroom door, the sound of the knob pops echoing through the room.

— Mr. Collin, you were loud - Nurse Coulter’s voice spread through the place, mixed with several other sounds in the background, from the wheeled one — your taxi is waiting to take you home.

— I think the medicine is too strong.

— I’d say they’re not.

— You’re having memory loss, you’re going too far.

Etan smiled when he heard the phrase. “Going too far.” I was definitely going, but nothing was changing. He felt cold, icy, a simple piece in the middle of a game, being watched by something that mocked him. Maybe the universe laughed at him. Maybe some God had turned his back.

When the car parked along the sidewalk, when he narrowed his eyes to see the gate scratched, when he paid for the driver and he went out picking pinel, he could see the building where he lived, a tall and plundered building, and although there were many apartments, he could have sworn he was the only one who still dared to live there. Alone.

He walked at his slowest pace, vacillating and staggering, witnessing the extreme strength he was making as he exchanged foot to foot. His eyes overloaded with dark circles fell on the silver doorknobs at the gate, as he entered the building, he had his spirit, or what little was left, to be murdered with the sight of the slow and mileage flights of stairs that would need to climb until he could get to his apartment.

The first step as always was the most painful, Etan could feel the nerves of his leg vibrate, as if they were being stretched. His cold, trembling hands grabbed each handrail precisely so that his little balance wouldn’t cause him to collapse. His vision seemed to be ready to collapse, as if everything Etan saw seemed strangely gray.

His face sounded, his legs wiggled and his head seemed to weigh a ton, his body was now his own burden and his own cross, and each step was like an obstacle to be overcome.

At last he managed to reach the top floor, his floor. Facing the solid oak door, Etan leaned his hands on the iron doorknob, turning it with all the force left in his body as he positioned his shoulders, pushing the door that always stuck, clinging to the uneven floor.

A crash sounds all over the building and the door simply goes down, taking the young man with it, a column of dust slowly falling as a cascade through the arches of the door. Bewildered, Etan takes a superhuman breath, lifting his body from the wood that was now in the center of his room.

It was already night when the young man had finished fixing the accident he had caused, this had already taken away all the forces that were in his body, he breathed with difficulty and felt he was about to shut down, he had no vigor in his flesh that made him crawl to cool his own body under the shower, he preferred to lie down on the chair stuck next to the window, which was always open. He let his torso fall like a stone on the upholstery of the furniture, and then raised his tired pupils to the immensity of the night, which presented itself as a heavenly spectacle to mortal eyes.

The sky outside had acquired a black and bluish tone, with millions upon millions of stars flashing and shimmering timidly through the cosmos.

Etan let his vision fall on a picture frame, which contained a picture of him and his mother, embraced, in a place he no longer remembered. For a second, he thought of calling, for a second he thought of saying that his son was fine, that he was healthy and taking care of himself, but reality was close and utopian solutions, not even his voice would be able to lie with such mastery.

He felt himself wasting away every day, every hour, every second. This just destroyed the young man’s perspective that there really could be a happy ending for all who seek, and Etan had already sought one countless times, to the point of simply wanting anyone, and everyone ended up with his body resting on sheets, millions of tests on the table and an extensive list of medications in his bloodstream.

He no longer had the strength to rise again, to believe in a new beginning or in an end, he felt the young body rotting, wasting away, an old man crying out so that his suffering would end anyway. Etan no longer felt any pain in his soul, and that was completely distressing, the only difference between his body and that of a dead man was the simple ability to keep trying, and he didn’t even have that anymore. Etan was asleep, he was now morbid as was the world around him. Without wills, without desires, without dreams or plans, his body weighed and his mind fucked. Etan was dead, dead enough to sing that he had nothing left of a human, that nothing in this universe cared.

Etan was rain on the sea, just one more number in the middle of graphics, and when he really died, he would transit from one to another, being just one more number in the middle of new graphics.

He looked at the blade hanging from the wooden deck on the kitchen countertop. A rusty knife that had earned its father’s inheritance.It wouldn’t be worth it.

Hi, yes ... I’m kind of new here, and it would be really cool if you could give me some feedback on what you think, sorry if there are grammatical errors or agreement, and forgive me if I’m making someone sad just trying to get away from mine own subconscious hahaha