A bang, the alarm won't go off. Five-thirty, sunrise approaching. A quick shower, cereal for breakfast. Another day, another problem. 8 a.m. sharp. Time for work. Nine hours of toil, with a break of about 20 minutes, during which I hadn't had a chance to eat anything decent, and already I had to get back to work.
The last day of the week's grind. Friday tradition dictated a trip to a bar outside the city for a special and hot chocolate. I was served by the same beautiful, mulatto woman with a tasteful braid. She spoke good English, but with that sweet French accent of hers. As always, when I placed my order, she smiled at me, and I smiled back. Every time I was at Marc's Dinner, I couldn't take my eyes off this deity. Leaning over my plate, I tried not to stop looking at her. It was my little fetish. I was about to leave when I suddenly noticed a large, blue goblet with a note on it, reading: "Post a note with your address and you might win a prize." For me, the best prize would be a number for a "hot chocolate"... these fanciful thoughts were eating away at me. Well, I tossed my card into the container anyway, with a quiet hope in my heart. I got in my car, turned on the Jam FM radio, and slowly drove home. I stuck my keys in the door lock and opened my den. It was a terrible mess. Dirty clothes, unwashed dishes, empty pizza boxes, and Chinese food were strewn everywhere.
A typical bachelor's den.
Showered and dressed in boxers, I was already getting into bed, and in the second between standing and lying down, I heard my cell phone ring and dug it out from under a pile of clothes. I saw an unfamiliar number. I answered it and casually said, "I'm listening." The familiar phrase, "I'd like a special and a hot chocolate," reached my ears. My breath caught. My chocolate introduced herself; her name was Blanche. She bluntly told me she'd never done this before; it was the first time she'd called a guy. I appreciated the honor with a fitting comment. The conversation got going, and she led the way. After about 10 minutes, she suggested a meeting. I agreed. Unrealizable thoughts had shifted their location, from the deepest recesses of my mind to the outside, real world. We arranged to meet on Sunday, in the park, by the gazebo, around 6 p.m. Contrary to my premonitions, those 12 minutes without sleep were worth the sacrifice. My life had finally taken a 180-degree turn. All Saturday, I walked 30 cm above the sidewalks and apartment tiles. I gained motivation, and I felt the urge to clear the rubble from my property. It became incredibly spacious. I washed the floors, windows, and refrigerator. It was as if the house wasn't mine. Those butterflies in my stomach were doing their thing (that's a very interesting term, I heard from a coworker who quoted her seventeen-year-old daughter). Saturday was a busy day for me; I also spent some money on a new shirt and some cosmetics. I went to bed unusually early.
Sunday arrived, and I went to buy fresh bread for ages. I shaved for the first time in two weeks. I also used a few cosmetics I hadn't known existed before, like hand cream. Dressed in a new shirt, I set off for the park forty-five minutes before 6 p.m. so as not to be late. I sat on a bench by the gazebo with flowers I'd picked from someone's allotment garden. It was precisely 6 a.m. I saw a figure approaching me gracefully. It was Blanche. But it wasn't the same woman. She had transformed from a waitress into a chocolate queen. The large braid from the bar had transformed into straight, waist-length hair. A sweaty face, unblemished in any way, not even by makeup, a beautiful face. She also shed her employee uniform and put on the simplest of clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, and Adidas sneakers straight out of the 1980s. This outfit filled me with unbridled delight. It was my first date in years. Blanche took the initiative, just as she had during our first conversation. I felt very comfortable with her, and we walked a bit. She suggested we go to her place because it was terribly cold. She didn't live far away. Her house was beautiful. She told me she was going to freshen up and told me to make myself comfortable. I went into the living room, noticed a very good whiskey on the table, and poured myself a glass. The sounds of a shower played in the background. After five minutes, they faded. The sounds of her wet feet were clearly audible. She came to me in just a towel and turned off the light. A moment later, I felt her tongue playing with mine. I knew what she was getting at. I let my imagination run wild, and so did she. The next few hours passed intoxicatingly.
Around 11 p.m., I jumped out of bed. Blanche lay naked beside me; she had a truly divine body. I smiled to myself. I stood up, went to my pants, and pulled out my hunting knife. I kissed her cheek; she woke up, the letter "u" appearing on her lips for the last time in her life. I stabbed her ten times quickly all over her body. I also took her scalp. After this, I kissed the dying Blanche. It was the last expression of affection she would ever feel; I collected her blood in a bottle. I looked her straight in the eyes; she walked away with visible pain. I laughed mockingly and took my new acquisitions. I ran straight home with my new acquisitions in hand. I practically jumped into the basement, lit a lamp, and hung a piece of Blanche next to my other trophies. I signed the wall with some of her blood and drank the rest. Blanche was joined to me forever.
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