It was late and exhausted, but I still stopped at the store on my way home because the rumbling sound of my bowels deafened even the announcer of the classic 80s radio show and I knew that all my refrigerator could offer me was a half-wilt bouquet of parsley. Or cilantro, I never know which is which. The kind you never know what to use but don't throw away. I don't think he's gonna volunteer.
The store was one of those classics where in the movies you warn the protagonist in vain that it's not a good idea to enter. The kind located in the most inconvenient place and that just don't give you confidence.
Ignoring my latent hunch of danger from the"low-budget thriller" I entered the store. There he was, there he was. I saw him from afar through the cans of jalapeno peppers, lurking in the dark across the hall.
He wasn't exactly hiding but he didn't make an effort to be seen either and I knew that from the darkness that sheltered him I could read the fear in my eyes, dramatically illuminated by the fluorescent light bulb of the energy drink cooler and flavored teas. My panic was evident, especially from the drop of sweat that was slipping down my forehead.
Running away. That would have been the smartest thing to do. Forget the hunger and run to the arms of the parsley that waited for me at home out of any danger. Run away in a hurry and don't turn back.
But no. I took a deep breath, dried my sweat with my sleeve and with a confusion between desire and guilt I approached. I crossed the granola bars and the canned vegetables but nothing distracted me. Not even the nauseating smell of the revolving sausages on my right. He was still there. Immobile. Stalking.
We were just a few centimetres away and suddenly, without thinking, I jumped at him. I knew it was dangerous but my reason was not working properly, clouded by so many long-held feelings.
Then I simply scratched him like a wild cat and could see a faint, victorious smile on his face. He didn't say anything. Just a quiet crunch. In less than four seconds it had collapsed. My dirty, stained fingers could not hide the responsibility for such a massacre.
Then there was nothing left. Only its shiny, seductive sheath fell to the ground. "Ferrero," he'd say, the very cynical one. Once again, he did it. She beat me like so many times before, and I was so disappointed and embarrassed that I left without turning around to see the impacted cashier.
This is how a hazelnut chocolate stripped you of all will and effort and reduces you to a simple animal pushed by the lowest instincts.
