It just can't be.
It seemed the most absurd thing in this world-wide world: that I should be asleep as Michael Jackson died. I wanted to stick my head into the kitchen's sink. What I did, though, was to dash the coffee, mug and all, into the basin. It hit the faucet with all my single-setting rotten mood turned up to eleven. "But today is just another day," I objected. "Chillax, surely you've misunderstood. It could be that only Farrah died," I told myself while I got me a more robust coffee.
“It's just stupid that I gotta go to work, I could call in and tell them I ain't there, that I am not coming. It should be so logical, that I wouldn't even need to explain to them why."
As incredible as it may seem, I took off from home like always. "Maybe I'm the only one going to work today," I thought. "Maybe people don't even exist anymore," I said out loud. "Maybe the only ones that made it were the ones that were asleep, for the moment," I screeched.
I wondered how the day could possibly dawn without Michael Jackson. I looked up to the sky, but there was no way of forecasting it. It was night time; cloudy, to top it off. Got in my car and took off at dawn, like every day, like all those days when Michael Jackson has never died, of course. And all the radio stations sounded off with his songs. Actually, it was only Thriller. Everything was Thriller. "Weird, not even Billy Jean…" It was very depressing, like when you see a movie in black and white and think that all the actors are dead, so I turned off the radio. I continued looking up to the sky. The clouds went on, static, and letting their bellies be touched by the Sun that was beginning. "At least it ought to be a Gone With The Wind sky, and not this gray mess."
The thing is that it looked less and less like a regular sky as the moments went by. The light was revealing some toxic clouds with metal shards that detached in rain form. The edge of the Sun peeked out squared-shaped. Suddenly, the whole sky pixelated. The town showed up, or rather appeared, asleep as usual. The town square, with all the street lights off; and the church with the lights on. "No! That's not how it is, just the opposite," my thoughts alerted me, but I wasn't so sure anymore. My memory failed me, and I riffled through my head in the only section still whole: Black and White. A congress of empty churches with lights on assaulted me, and all of them were of… "Shush! Don't creep yourself out no more, come on, get out and get on with it."
There wasn't anyone on the street, and neither could I remember if it should be so. It took me a while to link the grumbling that grew louder with each one of my steps to the sound of the bakery's presses and the smells of the freshly made croissants, although it seemed as if the last bake load had baked a little too long; but maybe that was the normal smell of it.
Then, I saw them at the end of the alley. They were coming towards me, dirty, broken, stumbling, slowly. I could have escaped because I hadn't forgotten how to run, but the thing is… "These zombie fuckers, you gotta see how gracefully they drag their feet!"
Pepsi
It seemed the most absurd thing in this world-wide world: that I should be asleep as Michael Jackson died. I wanted to stick my head into the kitchen's sink. What I did, though, was to dash the coffee, mug and all, into the basin. It hit the faucet with all my single-setting rotten mood turned up to eleven. "But today is just another day," I objected. "Chillax, surely you've misunderstood. It could be that only Farrah died," I told myself while I got me a more robust coffee.
“It's just stupid that I gotta go to work, I could call in and tell them I ain't there, that I am not coming. It should be so logical, that I wouldn't even need to explain to them why."
As incredible as it may seem, I took off from home like always. "Maybe I'm the only one going to work today," I thought. "Maybe people don't even exist anymore," I said out loud. "Maybe the only ones that made it were the ones that were asleep, for the moment," I screeched.
I wondered how the day could possibly dawn without Michael Jackson. I looked up to the sky, but there was no way of forecasting it. It was night time; cloudy, to top it off. Got in my car and took off at dawn, like every day, like all those days when Michael Jackson has never died, of course. And all the radio stations sounded off with his songs. Actually, it was only Thriller. Everything was Thriller. "Weird, not even Billy Jean…" It was very depressing, like when you see a movie in black and white and think that all the actors are dead, so I turned off the radio. I continued looking up to the sky. The clouds went on, static, and letting their bellies be touched by the Sun that was beginning. "At least it ought to be a Gone With The Wind sky, and not this gray mess."
The thing is that it looked less and less like a regular sky as the moments went by. The light was revealing some toxic clouds with metal shards that detached in rain form. The edge of the Sun peeked out squared-shaped. Suddenly, the whole sky pixelated. The town showed up, or rather appeared, asleep as usual. The town square, with all the street lights off; and the church with the lights on. "No! That's not how it is, just the opposite," my thoughts alerted me, but I wasn't so sure anymore. My memory failed me, and I riffled through my head in the only section still whole: Black and White. A congress of empty churches with lights on assaulted me, and all of them were of… "Shush! Don't creep yourself out no more, come on, get out and get on with it."
There wasn't anyone on the street, and neither could I remember if it should be so. It took me a while to link the grumbling that grew louder with each one of my steps to the sound of the bakery's presses and the smells of the freshly made croissants, although it seemed as if the last bake load had baked a little too long; but maybe that was the normal smell of it.
Then, I saw them at the end of the alley. They were coming towards me, dirty, broken, stumbling, slowly. I could have escaped because I hadn't forgotten how to run, but the thing is… "These zombie fuckers, you gotta see how gracefully they drag their feet!"
Pepsi
Written originally by Pepsi in the forum Prosófagos. Visit the forum today!
Translated by DNAZ Franco by express permission of the author.
