SHORT STORY ANTHOLOGIES | THE ONE

That morning he got up, again went to face the routine. He took the dishes to use, rinsed them again and began to prepare the food. The pantry overflowed with food, condiments, flours and canned goods, he took some of them and began to prepare breakfast. The frying oil made him think, the bubbling substance exposed moments from his past, before he was left alone completely.

The morning was gray, it seemed like the entrance to night, and that captivated him even more, for it was on a similar morning, when he made everyone leave. He fell into a depression, but that didn't stop him from making lunch. When he finished, he sat down, poured his food next to a freshly strained blackberry juice, and as he chewed, he watched the red of his drink, which was similar to that day, when he was finally left alone.

After finishing, he washed the dirty dishes and then went to pray, in front of the virgin on a pedestal that his wife had on the living room wall. The statuette looked at him sternly, as if judging him for the mistake he had made. He felt threatened and in an instant looked away. He began to feel nervous, then sad, and in the end, he burst into tears on the couch.

He decided to say only his prayers, thinking that this would lessen his guilt, but he was wrong, for all this activity did was to break him down even more. The mist entered through the pores of the house and surrounded him, it became more intense and tortured him. The cold plagued him with memories while his tears still escaped from his eyes.

He decided to leave the place where he was engrossed and took several photographs, which were on the mantelpiece over the fireplace, he also took the ones that were on the wooden tables and on the combing machine next to his bed. The pictures were of his wife and children, she; Diana, his wife, was beautiful, for she had curly, doll-like long brown hair, eyes as black as coffee and fine lips, not only tender to kiss, but also exhaling wise things.

Her children, by inheritance, were as beautiful as their mother. The eldest, Florencia, was sharp in insight, liked games of mental agility, such as chess and Chinese checkers, she had several boards, which she played for fun with her friends. The youngest, Ivan, was only seven years old, he was enthusiastic about superheroes, he dreamed of having their powers, of becoming one of them. He was more loving with his father, how could he imagine that things would change like that?

After taking the pictures, he went down to the basement, pushed aside the hanging plastic he had to stand between the graves, the three graves he dug for his family. An unexpected visitor snatched them away from him, but the most horrible, the most frightening thing about the situation, is that this visitor was himself.

He went off his meds and his bipolar disorder surfaced, dominating his personality like a bloodthirsty beast. He stabbed his wife and strangled his two children, by the time he realized it, it was too late. He had stripped himself of his family, there was no one else left, he had become the only one left.