Federico Rivolta

THE MEN IN WHITE


      There was nothing in this world for Charles. The world was dead to him.

      The clock rang at the same time that it did every day. The small room, grey and disordered, was an accomplice of his dark dawn, his wake up without waking up, his keep on dreaming standing, but without the dreams.

      The train took him to work, but it only transported his body, the rest of Charles no longer traveled by train.

      His office mates did not speak his language; to communicate with them he used the universal dialect. More than once he thought of telling them he was sad, but those words are not in the limited dictionary of the universal dialect. It was too late for new words anyway, because Charles no longer felt sad, because Charles no longer felt.

      In his white cubicle he marked as read resolutions he never read, sent as corrected works he never corrected and sealed as approved reports he never approved.

      Around noon he heard a mutter from the cubicle next to his, the 7G. A cry perhaps, or maybe a laugh, impossible to determine because Charles did not know the language the lady from the cubicle 7G spoke.

      Nothing happened during hours, but in the afternoon the weather condensed and the walls began to tremble and approach him, further reducing the tiny white cubicle. His coworkers went to find out what was happening.

      – What is going on? – asked Charles.

      No one answered.

      – Why are you all looking at me?

      His companions were talking among themselves when some men in white came and laid him in a small stretcher.

      – Where are you taking me?

      The men in white did not respond and took him away.

      Charles shouted while trying to pull the men in white away, but his cries were not heard nor did his arms and legs respond.

      – Why is everyone saying I have no pulse? - Charles shouted to his insides.

      For the first time in ten years he was feeling fear, for the first time in ten years he was feeling. But it was too late.
 

 

Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Federico Rivolta.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 06.07.2014.

 

Comentarios de nuestros lectores (0)


Tu comentario

¡A nuestros autores y a e-Stories.org les gustaría saber tu opinión! ¡Pero por favor, te pedimos que comentes el relato corto o poema sin insultar personalmente a nuestros autores!

Por favor elige

Post anterior Post siguiente

¿Este novel/poem viola la ley o el reglamento de publicación de e-Stories.org?
¡Por favor, infórmanos!

Author: Changes could be made in our members-area!

Mas de"Horror" (Relatos Cortos)

Otras obras de Federico Rivolta

Did you like it?
Please have a look at:

CONFESIONES A UN ALFIL - Federico Rivolta (Filosófico)
A Long, Dry Season - William Vaudrain (Vida)