"One hundred and sixty-nine", she wakes up counting the days, first thing on her mind before even opening her eyes. Her daily routine since the beginning of this nightmare.
She gets up and switches on the fully automatic coffee maker. It is bright, trendy, silver-plated with some futuristic matt black lines. Her eyes stare at the device; she remembers buying it the day before the improbable yet feasible outcome in which the world turned around. So many months saving money to get this perfect morning mate! It was undoubtedly the best choice for a companion since Bryce died away from her life. And it was, clearly, a whole lot easier to understand.
It has only two buttons: the classic "on-off" button and another that has to be used "only for resetting", a little round prominence in the rear with an unreadable inscription; the brochure stating it in a bafflingly warning way. She only used it once the very first day, just to try it, when she connected the electric pot. "There is nothing to reset, anyway", she told herself out loud checking its functionality that very first time.
While looking at the grains being crushed and pulverized, smelling the first drops of intense delicious scent falling off the beak, her mind starts to dazzle. Literally. A bright blue light stains everything all of a sudden, startling her and making her waver.
She remembers having that same sensation one hundred and seventy days ago when going to bed that night. The day after, the inapprehensible waited for her and the rest of the planet outside.
Ever since, her life became a humdrum sequence of boredom. Unable to leave her house due to the deadly atmosphere derived from the gigantic meteor that impacted in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, alone and with no friends or acquaintances nearby, she had to get used to keeping on existing, online: buying, making errands, meeting, working, studying, dating, surviving. Unexpectedly fast, she got used to wearing slippers and sports clothes all day long except when some business meetings are scheduled. By the way, those meetings? They are turning into social gatherings where everybody brings up their nervousness, undue personal problems, and apocalyptic terrors on the table without taking care of what she or somebody else may need. Or want. Or wish.
She still supposes that this catastrophic event would change people, but only a few began to behave more empathetically. Almost six months passed by and mankind still thinks everything is going to get back to normal, whatever that means.
As for her, she has a terrible rash from time to time in the middle of her chest. She thinks it is due to the meteoritic dust, spread in every corner of every place on earth. Or it may be because of Bryce and his cowardly manner of leaving behind her humanity, not even asking if she was still alive. Days and nights have no other meaning than pursuing an endless loop of nonsense, awaiting for a strange newness to shake her existence in some way. In any way.
The last drop of aromatic coffee sinks in her cup and takes her out of the trance. The coffee machine spits some other unexpected little drops but they are weirdly light blue, not black. A minute later, it makes the distinguishable sound of fulfilling its duty.
She unfolds her arm, takes the cupful, and smells the hot steamy infusion. Something is not right. She gingerly wets her lips and, while sipping an unflavored coffee, she thinks: "Well, maybe it's time to use that little button at the back, for real."
She turns the device, touches the surface at the bottom to detect the tiny protuberance. "Was it so hard for the manufacturer to put a clear and legible sign here to show where the button is?", she moans to herself. "Oh, what the hell, I can't find it!" She keeps on caressing the coffee machine with the same attention she used to toy with Bryce. "Finally! Here you are, little bastard".
Smoothly, she pushes the button. A bold sound thunders the air but...nothing else happens.
One hundred and sixty-nine days. Boring, chaotic, uncertain everyday life. Resigned, she throws away the liquid of her cup in the sink, prepares the machine for a new round and takes a magnifying glass to read the condemned miniaturized letters at the back of the coffee pot.
Cyndi Viscellino Huergo 2020©Todos los derechos reservados
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