The Magnetism of Being Fractured

by poeticsinema

You don't see Alejandro live his life. You can't tell apart the ruse between the human and the wolf. But beneath it all - the violence, his rage, and his vengeance, there are parts from his past that still resides within him. In the privacy of his own company, there are parts that he allows himself to recognise.

7. The end of the world

"The dough takes on a life of its own, it has its own way of reacting - sometimes massive, sometimes unhinged. It's almost like taming a beast."

Running. Cycling. Living.

Cinnamon roll. Coffee, black - no sugar.

Plastic lighter. Warming up his worn out soul.

Inhale.

He no longer has eyes on him.

The ring, the one he had worn for years after his wife had turned to ashes, sits inside the drawer of his bedside table. The window of this lived in apartment remains ajar. It collects the noise of people escaping their nests - into watering holes to start their mornings; running, cycling, living.

He no longer concerns himself with the churning underbelly of the city.

No longer an agent of its sewers.

He wipes the sleep from his eyes, rises.

You know I dreamed about you

For twenty-nine years before I saw you

There is fresh bread on the kitchen table. Coffee, black - still piping.

He now has a tacky mug, no longer takeaway cups, that has an A sprawled across it.

There is blueberry jam in the fridge.

He didn't wake up this morning hoping a white shirt would undo the atrocities he'd committed. It is linen, and he asks her that morning, before she departs for the bakery, why she wanted to spend her waking days and her nights asleep next to an old, fractured man.

You know I dreamed about you

I missed you for, for twenty-nine years

She tells him he is the only person she wants to come home to.