I am dying; daily.

I die the moment I wake up and make myself my coffee, the moment I light my first cigarette, the moment I am lost among the people without faces, the moment I am sinking on my sofa in front of a screen.

I am bored to death, endlessly, excruciatingly, breath after breath. I want to play. It's only then that I am alive. Nobody comprehends it.

 Let's be honest about that. I don't think they care enough to understand.

I don't care about that any more. I gave up on every effort of being understood.

I created a game.

I invite three people at my house every Saturday night. They have never met before and there is only one condition. Each one of them will come with an escort, someone who is a complete stranger to me.

Seven diners. Seven players at a game that they ignore. The perfect dinner.

Comme il faut. Comme j' adore. Art de la table...

Art de la vie.

There are no names at this game. There are no faces; Only words.

I get to chose mine. On a small card, placed on each plate, each one of them comes across his own.

This night I will be the lover. I am prepared for that and I have been waiting for them.

Bullet, Gun, Anger, Marriage, Sex and Love are dining with me tonight.

I am ready for them; seadly seductive, waiting for the innocent to come and join me.

They are so innocent. Yet it has been ages since I believed in innocence. They are arriving. I open the door. They choose their seats by trying to pick up their card. I feel their shivering, their eyes' glow. They crave for a game. They would give up anything for this; so that they could sit on this chair. And stay there.

But I get bored. Liqueur is served. Deep inside I am just a kid. They don't understand it. They get drunk and it's not because of the alcohol. They try to touch me. I smile. They are mine. I sit on the top of the table. They wait for my sign.

So we begin. I watch them as they devour their food. How love feeds herself on flesh. At where the gun is pointing. How sex brings on his lips the wine and bullet... so naïve. Anger is looking for his alibi. I smell their portraits; their being, their masks are just libations this night. Marriage. I 'm entertained but her nudity. There are times that I believe that if they could invade my mind, they would never be the same again.

They eat.

They drink.

It's me whom they are eating.

It's me whom they are drinking.

The lover.

The one that they lust for; to touch him, to smell, to taste. Faith; unconditional surrender. Yet all are unfaithful. That's why they are going to stand up eventually. Other will come and take their places and then some more. And after them, some more with different cards.

There are moments that I think that there will be someone who will turn the "
Lover" card upside-down. That he will see what is written on the other side. No one has ever done it. These fools they don't even turn their own.

Once they have finished and gone, I take their cards and throw them at the fire place. I watch them burning. I feel exhausted, like a void. I light a cigarette and watch them turning into ashes, one after the other, both sides. As soon as the last one is burned, I take mine and get out at the balcony. I leave it there, turned upside down and then I go to sleep. They are all blind. I lay down.

I will be dead for a few hours but I shall be reborn again; in absentia.

God.

.

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PS this is dedicated to C. B. because it was her idea to translate it and create this collection of short stories.