A Matter of Faith: Chapter 1-8

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Friday.

It is time for another piece of A matter of faith.

Who is the owner of this wonderfull tavern full with legends that it’s called True Lies?.

Discover it now:

Liberty was still cleaning up the mess that Santa had arranged with the Kings. Halloween was already over, so victims of Santa Claus would have come back to life and obligations, but the remains that were left behind insisted on staying on the ground.

R.E.M.’s, “Everybody Hurts” was sounding on the radio. The melody was in the air mingling with quirky customers’ conversations and the noise of the brush with which Liberty rubbed wood flooring. But, amid the usual sonata, tavern routine life, a constant sound could be detected, like a fly nuisance or rain patter on the window. Hidden in the shadows, sitting at a table reserved just for him, the owner of True Lies moved his fingers over the keyboard of a blackberry phone with the same skill with which a magician plays with a silver coin. The click was fast and steady. It created its own pace, oblivious to everything around. The display light illuminated slightly his face. His facial features were confused among the flashes emitted by the images on the phone.

“Hi Loke,” he heard over his shoulder.

His hands stop typing. The constant changing ceased and the screen stopped at a celebrity gossip website. The light brightened, this time in a static manner, his facial features were still difficult to refine. On the corner of his eye he caught sight of black leather boots and a long trench coat covering the legs. He looked up to notice the bare chest of the man who had interrupted him.

“It has been a long time since any one called me that, Des,” he replied returning his attention to the phone and starting typing again.

“There was a time when you called me father,” Des said emotionless.

“It’s said people learn from their mistakes,” Loke replied without taking his phone away.

“We don’t,” Des corrected. “We are what we are – Nothing more, nor less.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What the hell you want?”

“I need a favour.”

“Ah, ah, no way,” he looked up from the phone for the second time. “I won’t be your pet. Not again.”

“You’ve no choice.”

“We shall see.”

“I need you to take care of a young woman. It’s personal.”

Des took the phone. There was something in the way he moved, on his way to act and speak, that square sense, so that whatever he did seemed to dull the minds of those who surrounded him. As if everything in his path was a piece of a puzzle that fit the moment in which he wished.

He typed quickly under the watchful eye of Loke, and when it seemed he had found what he wanted gave him the phone back.

Loke took a first glance. He rolled down the screen to see the full screenshot, read it twice to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind.

“It’s impossible,” he exclaimed.

“Strange times are coming, son.”

“You knew about this?” Loke asked.

“I always know about everything,” Des answered, “And you should know too.”

“But, but…” There was embarrassment in his voice. “I didn’t take it seriously. It’s…it’s…”

“It is what it is.  No more, no less,” Des repeated it as a mantra, but when he said it made sense.

“You knew and did nothing.”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Des replied smiling.

“You want me to clean your mess?” Loke stood up to face him but Des wasn’t there.

He knew he was gone, but still turned his neck like a periscope viewer recognizing the surface of the tavern, but no “ping” came on the radar of his vision. Just a couple of childhood nightmares hiding in the shadows. A literary muse that had abused green apple martinis and the tireless Liberty who was still washing the floor.

“Shit,” Loke snorted.

A warning bell informed him of a new email in his phone. His mailbox already accumulated more than five hundred messages in the inbox in the last five minutes. The figure would quadruple in the next ten minutes, and he’ll have to answer them all. That was his job: to manage, receive and distribute information. That was his whole life – his whole existence. The tavern was just a whim, a banality that explained his character and his essence. Quality, no doubt, he had inherited from his father.

Another warning.

It was a SMS from Des.

Loke forgot the others and selected the last mail. The screen split in two and the bottom was displayed as a preview of the text. There was a sentence that said:

“By the way, I told the Sisters you’d visit them. But they already knew it, of course.”

As a narrator I have lived, seen and heard plenty of stories. I’ve sailed the most exciting plots and the most boring texts. In the section of sincerity and passion I’ve never witnessed a greater ardour when lover told the object of his love, “I love you”, except in this case, when Loke simply said:

“SHIT!”

 

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3 Responses to A Matter of Faith: Chapter 1-8

  1. Chatty Owl says:

    Oooo illustrations 😉

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