Metamorphosis (The Promotion)

[djo991]

"If you think that it would be easy to deceive a fool, you can't be more mistaken. He who had already lost his origin in this tainted world of deceptions and whose every fiber in muscles and every cell in body is made of lies and deceits inseparably entwined, he will never abandon willingly this deceitful world of his."

*

I used to be him.
Before he started changing.
Or at least before IT banished me from his body.

He works too much, spending nights and days over some papers.

I forgot what I was doing when I was him.

But I know that this former me and present him forgot everything about his children, he  forgot about the woman he had fallen in love with, he forgot the words and the feeling of being somebody. He forgot it all. All but the digits, all but the contracts, the work and the promotion.

Last night, he finally finished his annual report. I can tell that something crucial has happened. I will tell you what I saw, last night in his bedroom. And then you tell me if he got the promotion.

**

Last night, after completing his annual report, he decided to go home. For a night, at most. It was rare to see him home, to see him under the bright lights of the living room, with this wide grin  on his face. Almost terrifying. His eyes were weary, as if they had seen more than anyone would want to. The grin and the white teeth, glowing with radiant shine didn't say he was happy. They said nothing. Brownish suit looked rather dirty and worn out on him, but he seemed oblivious of that.
He greeted his wife and his kids with no words and went straight to the bedroom.

Exhaustion put the spell on him, and while closing his eyes, the digits he had been working on flew over his eyelids for the last time that night.


Like in a time-lapse, his body started twitching. The dark room fell into a deep dream and the only thing disturbing it was the sound of his body shuddering. Then a scream broke out and tore the silence of the room asunder. It was no ordinary scream. It could be the scream of the change.
Every single atom in the structure of his body was crying out loud, as if at death, and his body was now shaking uncontrollably.
At that moment, from the pores in his skin, small fibers started growing out,  searching for the nearest one to connect and unite, twisting around in the symphony of screams.
He kept on shaking and screaming, but nobody was there to hear him. And he screamed. And he cried for help, he called God's name, he begged for the grace of death to be laid upon him. He prayed to Digits to save him, he even rang up his boss, hoping that he could help. All in vain.

This torment took a while.


But he survived.
He got out of the bed.

No bruises, no scars, no wounds. No. He was fine.
He was wearing an extravagant business suit, black and white, all in fine fibers, delicately manufactured.

He put his hand on the mirror, touching the reflection, as if he was sealing a contract,
satisfied with his looks,
satisfied with the suit,
feeling this new skin of his.

His eyes were glowing in a shady manner, like old neon signs signaling the point of no return, where you dive deep and never emerge.
He was very satisfied with his new suit.

He left for work early, before the sunrise.

***

The digits that he will be working on are flying over his eyelids.

[djo991]

Engleski prvenac, cekam kritike

[vimen]

Da bi se pisalo na engleskom mora se pisati i u duhu engleskog jezika, ne srpskog. Ovaj tekst se čita sa snažnim ruskim akcentom, nikako drugačije, a ne verujem da si to hteo da postigneš. Osim ako protagonista nije ilegalni imigrant.

[djo991]

Vimen, hvala na kritici U svakom slucaju, forma je vazna, voleo bih da znam sta mislis o samoj prici... Deja vu, ne, out of place... Moram da priznam da nikad i nisam radio na formi puno, ali ako bi ukazao na pojedinacne primere, pretpostavljam da bi mi bilo lakse da shvatim na sta mislis....