🇫🇷 Cette histoire n’est disponible qu’en anglais.
🇺🇸 This story is only available in English
Cyril couldn’t even let out a cry of frustration and despair. He was unable to.
Around him, the ground was now empty and desolate.
There had once been many of his comrades around him. Patricia. Sandra. Tony. Bob. Goofy Takeshi, who had been the oddball of the band, white when they were all black.
Then, suddenly, the enemy had come. Arby had been the first to go. He had communicated to them that he had a bad feeling… And then suddenly, something big, shiny, silvery, like a cold messenger from a frozen hell, had come from above. It had plucked him, like he was a weightless microbe, and the pain had come. Piercing, sudden… Over in less than a second.
Fear spread, but they weren’t able to do anything. The machinery came back, again and again, for every single one of them. It grabbed them, and they disappeared into oblivion. Now, only Cyril was left.
This couldn’t be the end, though.
He would not allow it.
He burned with rage and fury.
He had never been the spiritual kind, never believed in much of anything, but this didn’t make any sense!
He cursed life, he cursed the gods, he cursed everything in existence, he cursed the cold machinery that had taken the life of so many of his friends in so few minutes!
“I swear it!” He proclaimed, though no one could heard him. “I swear I’ll come back! I swear I’ll reincarnate! And whatever, whoever is to blame for this tragedy, I’ll make them pay! I’ll make them pay! I’ll haunt them forever! For me, for my friends, I will be back!“
He saw the instrument of death coming. He only had hatred in his heart when he left this world, his black body torn away from the place he belonged and thrown into a massive plastic grave, like all his loved ones had been.
As she put her tweezers aside, Cynthia sighed, wondering again why on earth she had to epilate her legs so often.