The Wedding

Close the tab, exit the account, end the other programs, push the off button:

The screen is black, it's quitting time.

Your coat hangs at the rack, you exit the room, Mrs. W., the secretary, has already left her seat behind her desk. It's half past ten, quite late but you had to clinch the deal with those Irish men, finally you'll be able to take Juliet somewhere, no more stress, no more calls in the middle of the night, it's over.

Adjust your tie, look in the mirror, your hair is still good looking, even now, after the last weeks when you couldn't even close an eye without a pill. Smile at your reflex, walk those three steps forward, push the button.  You have to wait a few seconds, then the metallic door in front of you opens and you enter the elevator. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four.. it takes a little time, but you like it, to hover between the earth and the sky, between the stars and the cement, heaven and inferno. 

Ground floor, the door opens and you walk out, into the hall.

- Good evening Sir - It's Chuck, the doorman, sitting there as usual, with his sport-mag, and the framed picture of his niece, hanging on the wall.

- Good evening Charles, how's your wife? –

- She's getting better, thanks-

Apparently she caught this cold last week-end at her sister's.

He was there since the beginning of it all, from the first day you entered the company, 'til that rainy 6th of december you took over the presidency. 

A few more remarks and you're outside, the wind blows slightly in your face, and you stop, close your eyes and absorb this natural energy hitting you as gently as a cloud. But then the perpetual noise of the car horns brings you back to reality, as harshly as a woman screaming in the middle of the night. Look around, people are walking along, living their lives, you walk on, down the street till you get to the corner, there you stop. And then you get sucked into the frenetic spiral of the city, raise your hand, one of those hundred taxis seems to be interested in you, he stops by, you get in, - Good evening Sir - , as usual. You could have a chauffeur, but prefer being on your own, that's what always characterized you, always been alone.

The cab reflows into the stream, and goes on, street after street, corner after corner. The traffic light turns red, the motion stops, and hundred people cross the street in front of you. You observe those ants, crawling around the great anthill, most of them have normal lives, a family, maybe a dog... but there are some, of whom you'd like to know the story, their lives, enter their brains and maybe find out something, maybe they're alone as well. But then the light turns green, and it goes on, on and on, till finally the buildings get familiar to you. The driver stops, pay, take your things, pronounce a short -" 'evening"- , and you're outside. 

Juliet is away, she's away pretty often, and so you're alone in your penthouse, alone.

Never mind, you think, take your clothes off, just put them somewhere on a couch, and sit down in the darkness of the living room, watching out of the great glass window. From here above you see the whole city, his lights, his skyscrapers, but the frenetic rhythm of the street turned calm and quite, silent.

You should eat something, but you don't. The clock indicates midnight, but even though you'd like to, you know you wouldn't be able to sleep. And so you stay there, in the darkness, thinking about your day, trying to remember, trying to find something different, something unusual to you, trying to escape from this cage, from this prison. You try to find an exit, something to get you out of this dullness, which absorbs and sterilizes every single day of your life. And then you stand up, go to the bathroom, and face yourself in the great mirror. This man you see, it's not you anymore. His pale face, and red eyes are looking at you, crying for help, trying not to lose those last crumbs of sanity, trying not to accomplish the marriage which is taking place in your head, between your sin and his maîtresse, la folie. 

You turn around, clear your thoughts, and step into the shower. Water crushes on your head, you feel the drops on your lips, running down your skin, and finally the mess in your brain is being cleaned up.

Pull the plug, push aside the curtain, there's always some water coming out of the shower anyway, so you step on the wet floor.

Once again, you're facing the mirror, once again, your madness is raising again. The hairdryer is in your right hand, but you're not able to look away from your reflex, trapped by those hypnotic red eyes.

"Are you, taking the here present.. as your wife?"

The dryer is still pending in your hand, the eyes are still crying, one last time, for help.

"Oui, I am"

One last cry, let go the dryer.

Sparks, the screen is black, it's over.