Quiet is Violent

I feel my pupils dilating the moment I die and my soul escapes. I have left another body again. I keep on sending desolated bodies down. None of them were strong enough to me. So many have perished with fear in their eyes. I've seen it countless times. But if only they knew their purpose. Though none of them have sufficed me for too long, they all helped me somehow. They showed me what an imperfect, weak, flawed body is like. They should've expired with a smile on their faces. But it was not always like that. I was not born to steal bodies. Something has happened and I was forced to make sacrifices. I took bodies for cleansing. I dwelled on them for as long as they could bear, and when they were broken and weak and empty they were sent down, but not before I took over another one. But it was not like that in the beginning. In the beginning I was in the void. The lid was open and I could go anywhere, in this universe or another. I could be anything, I was free. I became everyth...

It is Sunday early in the morning and he is already downstairs, the shop already smells like baked chocolate chip cookies. When he finished the slow process of measuring, sifting, and stirring, the dough rises in the oven and the house becomes saturated with the scents of butter and flour and chocolate.  As the process is almost ready, he starts washing and cleaning the equipments he has just used, leaving everything in the kitchen shiny and tidy.  The cookies are ready, he takes them out and put them on the marble table. As he waits for them to cool down, he starts making a list of the supplies he needs to buy that day. He checks the huge fridge and the cupboards, making sure he didn't forget to write down anything that is missing. Once the cookies are cool enough, he puts them in a small container, gets the shopping list and goes outside.  His shop is at the far end of a peaceful street not very close from downtown. Despite the time, movement can be already...

It was a spring morning in a relaxed Saturday when the letter came. The jeweller was in his house, stretched in a lounge chair in the backyard reading a book, enjoying the warm sun in the company of his loyal dog, Buster. The doorbell rang, but it took a while for the jeweller to get up and check on the door. He never received any visitors, and it was Saturday. Somebody at the front door on a Saturday was something very unusual, even for him. He got up and was greeted by the  mailman, who gave him an envelope, saying that it was an urgent matter that apparently couldn't wait until Monday. The mailman left shortly after, a trail of dust on the road behind him. The jeweller analysed the envelope as he headed to the living room. It was a beautiful manila envelope, not very large. His name was written in one side of it in a neat, fanciful handwriting. On the other side, there was the name and address of the sender: just the initials A. G. D. It came from England, an unknown st...

Chon opens his eyes before the alarm clock goes of. It is warm and comfortable in the bed, and part of him wants him to tuck himself under the blankets more, to sleep on just a few more minutes. But he knows he can't do that. He gets up and stretches, checking the time: 2:45 am. He's up fifteen minutes earlier, like always. He considers not putting the alarm clock on anymore, for he never needs it to wake up. But it's better to leave it there, just in case. His slippers are on the side of the bed. He puts them on and goes to the bathroom. The lights are kept off, he lets the water flows a bit to warm up, and then washes his face and brushes his teeth. Then he opens the wardrobe in the bedroom. It is not hard to choose an outfit - his clothes are all the same. He picks the gray plain t shirt, black jeans, equally black sneakers and a red cap with the initials M. D. A. written on it. Once he's dressed, it is time for breakfast. The kitchen is small but pr...

I sip my coffee as I wait for my profiteroles to arrive. I have been waiting for them more than I judge necessary, but I don’t feel like complaining or being bitter today. The day is being nice and I don’t want to ruin it. I am in a small coffee shop that I discovered in one of my many walks through the city. I was told the little and hidden places are the best ones, and I agree with that. Except when they take forever to bring your food. The profiteroles finally arrive, the apologetic face of the waiter instantly fading away as soon as he sees my smile. Don’t get used to it, friend. It is not a custom of mine to smile at strangers. Unless they bring me food. I eat slowly, appreciating their flavor and the warmth of the coffee. It is black and bitter, the way I like it. The small coffee place is located in a street with a funny name not so far from downtown. I don’t think many people know this place. The advertisement is not very flashy, you would only find it if you knew ...