The Event - Prólogo e Capítulo 1

Uh, eu andei juntando umas ideias e escrevendo uns esquemas. Quem quiser ler, sinta-se a vontade. Então presento-lhes: The Event.

Ah é, eu to escrevendo em inglês. Deal with it.



Prologue

Ever since the antique times, people have studied and speculated theories about the ability to communicate or send information to others through someone’s mind, be it sub- or consciously. To put it simply, telepathy. Democritus, the ancient Greek philosopher, said telepathy could be explained through the wave and corpuscle theories. Many centuries later, William Crookes, a British chemist and physicist put forth a theory that telepathy worked like brain waves, on radio. And a century later, during the cold war, Soviet scientist L. L. Vasilies proposed that telepathy was related to electromagnetism.

The point is, while many theorize and ponder about the possibilities, no one has truly proved that they have telepathic abilities. Some studies have been done, but they prove almost nothing and are a rarity. Modern science has no time for telepathy -- working on stem cells research and developing cures for previously incurable diseases is, supposedly, much more productive to our race. That’s what I used to think, before the experience I went through about a week ago.

Tell me, what would you do if you suddenly realized you knew something no one else in the world did; something so extremely important that, if known widely, would change the world. Yet something so absurd that that no one you told it would believe you. What you would do? Would you keep it to yourself and try to make a profit out of it? Or would you try to find a way to prove it and warn the world about it? Would you shape this secret to your liking, or would you let that secret shape your life and control you? Or would you do nothing?

I’m not asking for advice here. I know what I have to do. All I want is for everyone to understand what happened to me. And for that, let’s go back about 9 days ago, 2 days before my world changed. Just a disclaimer though: I want you all to know I’m definitely not crazy, lunatic, or anything of the sort. Seriously. I wish I was making this up due to some crazy hallucinogens or a heavy dose of alcohol, but I am not. So, without further ado: flashback, start.



Chapter 1 - Retreating Ocean Water And The Fish That Are Left Behind

January 12th. A Wednesday. I wake up like every other day in the past three years: slowly, lazily, fighting-against-my-will-to-stay-in-bed-the-whole-day-ly. I hear the clock, and look at it. The digital clock above my head, on the wooden structure of my bed, makes a sound signalizing a new hour. 2 PM. It seems I’m early today.

I carefully stand up. Hitler and Musso are still asleep on top of my blanket, and I truly don’t want to wake both of them up. I envy cats for their ability to simply sleep soundlessly and not worry about tedious human stuff like I do. Both being black stray cats, I never expected them to get used so quickly to living in an apartment. It has been about three months ever since that girl forced them into my possession, and so, three months ever since I last heard of her. “Is she okay?” is what I should think, but I refuse myself to worry about such a troublesome person.

After opening the windows, washing my face and brushing my teeth, I sighed and sat on my office chair. Living in a single-room apartment surely is convenient -- everything I could possibly need is within a few steps’ reach. Except for the bathroom, but I’m someone who cares deeply about hygiene. That’s another reason that girl repulses me to no end. Ugh, enough thinking about her. It’s already been twice and I have barely started my day. Not that I was excited to actually start it. On top of my desk there were countless unopened envelopes of bills, random correspondence and stuff I’d get in the mail. On the other side, my notebook, which I wouldn’t even bother turning on seeing as I haven’t paid my internet bill in a while so I probably won’t have any access.

Since when have I been so irresponsible? This is the worse. I need to clean up this place, and also probably give my mother a call and see if I can have her financial help for a while... Yeah, right. Ugh, there’s so little time, and yet so many things to do. Maybe I should ask for someone’s help.

...Why did that girl’s face suddenly come up? I’m sure she would gladly help me organize this place, but I don’t want to involve myself with someone like her. Besides, it’s not like I know where to find her. And it’s not like I don’t have other people to rely on.

...I think. I’m probably just in denial. I don’t have anyone, nor anything. I’m a college dropout, but not that it means much since I was majoring in Liberal Arts. I decided to live alone so I could restart my life in college, away from my parents. But after two years, my determination was next to zero. I lived of my parents’ financial help, pretending I was going to college. But everything changed a few months ago. I heard from my mother that my father had suddenly left home. No explanations given. With that, my family income had been reduced by about 75%. My father was a famous neurologist and sustained our family basically all by himself. My mother is just a secretary -- her income is not nearly enough to pay for everything now. With that, I was asked to go find a job, but all my outside experiences from the past months included randomly meeting this nasty, inadequate girl and being forced in some miscellaneous activities with her, which went from removing recently-planted trees near the river bench to throwing food at some apparently specific bypassers. Of course, she was the one to do all that. I was just dragged by force.

Still, I found no job. So here am I, drowning in bills. Even though I loudly scream that I can’t take this anymore and decided to finally take action, my own Lady Luck shows her devilish face right as I open my front door and, right in front of me, is my neighbor from the room in front of mine. I don’t quite remember her name, but she’s about my age, maybe a year younger, and so, so very pretty. Her sleek body and perfectly sculptured face, with her wild-yet-symmetrical dark blonde hair has to mesmerize any man who takes a glance.

“Good afternoon, neighbor!”
“G-Good afternoon...” is all that I managed to say in response to her enthusiastic greeting. It’s difficult to maintain my composure after being so suddenly put in her presence, not to mention the lack of conversations I’ve had in the past months.
“Are you going out today? I’ve noticed that’s not a common habit of yours.”
“Uhhh yeah. I’m going s-somewhere...”
“Oh, a pajama party?!”

A pajama party? What kind of question is that? When you see a neighbor going out, is the first place you guess he’s going to a “pajama party”? Now I’m curious about what goes inside this woman’s mind. I always thought she was a sane individ-

Oh.

As red as the blood from a flesh wound in the head, I retreat to my room. I can’t believe my isolation level has reached this point, where I would forget to dress myself to leave my room. Oh, things have indeed never been sadder for me. Just how would I be able to face my pretty neighbor again after this incredible occurrence? I guess today is just not my day to leave. This has to be a bad omen. Okay, it’s decided -- I’ll stay home today. Again. Like all days the past two months.

January 13th. I think. If I’m right, it’s Thursday. I look around. All dark. Yup, it’s probably the 13th already. After the humiliating adventure of yesterday, I just buried my head in my pillow and felt asleep. A bit too early for my liking, but there was nothing I could do. Now that I’ve woken up again, it all felt like a sudden dream- I was up for no more than 40 minutes the past day. Judging by the lack of noise, it’s probably late in the night. I grasp my pillow tight, sinking my head and my thoughts with it. I wonder when I’ll start receiving calls from the taxers and who else wants my money. Hopefully not during this time of the day. Reminds me of a time when my mother had a panic attack at home and would call me everyday at 3 AM. I’m not even sure if it’s that late already, but I certainly don’t want to revive that time of my life. I would always wake up and talk to her for a while before going back to sleep. Huh. I’m probably thinking this much about my mother right now because she’s the only one who can help me with money, even if just a bit.

I let out a sight. Today I need to go out and find a job, like, immediately. Then call my mom and have her pay for this month’s rent. Then sell some of my stuff, I guess. I need some immediate money, too.

When I looked around the room for something to sell, my eyes were suddenly glued to Hitler. No, no, I never planned plan on selling him. But he was acting weird. He was facing me. Looking into my eyes. Fixedly. I returned the stare, confused. The cat let out a weird meow, not like his usual, and kept staring me. This was getting way too freaky for my liking. Never once has either Hitler or Musso acted like that. Maybe Hitler decided to act like the one he was named after and has now awaken a murderous desire against me? But before I got to any conclusion, Hitler fell in the floor. Wait wait wait, was he sick? Was that his way of telling me to rise my ass from the bed and take him to the vet? I surely thought that was the best interpretation, so I did as said and this time actually remembered to wear clothes. As I was moving through the apartment, knocking some things over, I just covered Hitler with a bath towel, put him under my arm, and ran through the door, to the nearest veterinary.

Luckily, it wasn’t very far from my apartment complex. I’ve bought Hitler and Musso there before, to get them vaccinated, and it’s also where I’ve bought their stock of cat food. That was three months ago, huh. As I got there though, things went less smoothly than I wanted them too. I put Hitler, wrapped in the towel, on top of the front desk.

“Uh, hello, uh, sir. How can we help you?”
“Listen, Hitler is sick.”
“I... I think Hitler is already dead, sir.”

I looked at my cat, whom I guess by reflex looked back at me and blinked. I facepalmed. Was the secretary trying to not understand me on purpose, or was she really that stupid?

“Not that Hitler. This Hitler, my cat. I want him to get a check up.”
“Oh.”

That’s all she said. I stared her face. She was a petite, young, palid girl. Her hair was a classic bowl cut, and she wore red-wired reading glasses. Her white-as-snow face showed no evident expression, as did her unenthusiastic voice.

“Well then, I’ll call the doctor. Please wait a second.”

I nodded and took a sit in the waiting room. I was the only one around. Now that I think about it... I take a look around and find a clock in the wall. 3:14 AM. Wait. Is this clinic a 24-hours clinic? I’ve never seen a 24-hours vet. It seems somehow suspicious. However before I could think about it any deeper, the secretary (or was she just an attendant?) was back.

“Please fill this form here, sir, uh, and I’ll take care of the cat and bring him to the vet in the other room.”
“Wait.”
“Uh, yes?”
“Was this clinic always open 24-hours?”
“Uhhh, no, it wasn’t. I believe they extended operational times just recently, apparently because, uh, a new doctor was contracted. I started, uhh, working specially because of this, since all other times conflicted with my, uh, study hours.”

As I heard she talk, I filled the form with Hitler’s and my basic information.

“Can I take my cat to the doctor myself?”
“No.”

The answer came within a second of my question.

“The cat must be taken by me and examined by the doctor alone.”

Her way of speaking had changed abruptly. Now she didn’t stutter even once, no “uh”, and her responses were direct and clear. Did she have personality issues? This is not good, ma’am. Or was she just pretending? Role-playing? I mean, a small girl with glasses and a white skin just screams “shy bookworm!”.

“Please hand me the cat.”
“Woah, wait a sec, miss.”
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s not just a cat. He’s Hitler.”
“You must hand me the cat now. We’re taking too long. He needs to be examined.”

In hindsight, this is probably the creepiest thing that had ever happened so far in my life. 2 AM, in a pet clinic, the secretary suddenly changes personality, talks menacingly, doesn’t blink once, and demands for one of my only companions in the past three months. I don’t know who’d find this funny, but I don’t, and it freaks me out and if this was a scene of a horror or suspense movie, she would have already stabbed me with a knife and then taken Hitler for a demonic summoning ritual. I could see it happening.

“Uh, girl, look, I think I’ll pass. This is becoming a little too --”
“The cat. Give him to me. Now. We can’t take any more time.”

Now she was saying “give”, not “hand”. A level up in demanding. Just as I was about to hold onto Hitler and run away, the door behind the secretary opened. A man in a white labcoat appeared before me, and the secretary quickly turned to him too. He smiled at her. A plain, soothing smile.

“It’s okay. You can calm down” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. Was he talking to me or her? I couldn’t tell, his glasses’ lenses reflected the light and I couldn’t see where he was looking. I just couldn’t keep quiet, though.
“You’re the doctor?”
“Absolutely. I’m sorry about this girl’s behavior. She’s a bit weird sometimes, but I promise she means no ill.”

Yeah, say that about a girl who looked like she was staring at my soul.

“I-I’m, uh, s-sorry...” the girl said while looking at me, with teary eyes.
“Oh... it’s fine. Just don’t do it again.”

She then returned to her seat. The doctor stepped forward and extended me his arm.

“That’s the sick kitty? Here, give him to me. I’ll do a quick check-up and then we’ll see how to proceed from there. Could you wait in this room just a bit?”
“Ah... sure, I guess.”

Now that the situation had calmed and the vet himself was there, I had no reason not to hand Hitler to him. He seemed like he wouldn’t suddenly snap, horror-movie like on me either. After cautiously giving Hitler to him, I returned to my seat. The secretary girl seemed to be reading a book, but she would occasionally stare at me, then back to the book. She had this concerned, anxious feeling. Just what was that happened back then? Why was she being so urgent? Why did she suddenly change?

At first I was surprised. Oh, how naive I was. I didn’t know that would be just the entree. The appetizer. Because in the next day, my world would be turned upside down. Actually, not just my world. The world. Everything I knew about it.

About 10 minutes later, the vet returned with Hitler in his arms.

“It’s nothing serious. You don’t have to worry about him.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks doc.”
“I gave him some medicine, and he should be fine by the morning.”

After saying goodbye to the vet and the creepy secretary, who seemed to be unsettled and sweating nonstop, I stepped out of the building, and headed back to my apartment. After all, it was around 2:30 AM and I had no business staying outside during that time. Not alone. I mean, not with Hitler. That is, my cat named Hitler. I’d gladly spend a night out with Adolf Hitler if I had the opportunity to ask him some questions.

After reuniting Hitler with Mussolini and putting some more food in their bowls, I set my alarm to 8 AM. Yeah, that’s a good time to go job hunting. To kill the time, I just randomly picked a book from my shelf. The book was The Zombie Survival Guide, by Max Brooks. Oh, right. That’s when I remembered: this book was in the same box as Hitler and Musso, which was given to me by that girl. I flipped through the pages aimlessly. I didn’t want to read a book about surviving zombie attacks. Not that I doubt it’s a well written book, I just don’t want to prepare myself against a zombie attack, because I don’t believe in the undead. Corpses rising from the graveyard, voodoo-enchanted, or even virus-created, sorry, I just don’t buy that stuff. I recently had a very creepy experience though, one that almost made me reconsider my beliefs in scary things. Hm. Why would she have a book like this? Maybe she believes in these things?

As I was flipping through the pages, something fell out of the book. A piece of notebook paper. Did she leave this here in purpose? Unfolding the paper, something was written. “Do not trust them”. Huh. A pretty cryptic message. Who is “them”? And why shouldn’t I trust them? Is she talking about the zombies? The author of the book? The cats?

What is up with that girl? Thinking that maybe I’ll understand the message if I read the book, I flip back to page one and start reading. Mussolini jumps on my lap, fixing once and for all my activity for the night -- that is reading this book, apparently left in my possession on purpose by a lunatic and hyperactive young girl.