Chapter I: Obsession

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Through the haze of cloudy consciousness comes a familiar voice:

"Hey, dude, get up!"

Hector struggles to get at least one eye open. Yesterday's or today's whiskey is making it rather difficult for him to figure out what's going on, to recall where he is and who he is. The voice keeps goading him on.

"Look, if you've decided to take a nap, this ain't the right place, dude. Pay up and get the hell out of here. You spent half the night mumbling some incoherent gibberish about there being no time, but now you've been sleeping here for exactly two hours", mocks the voice. "Two hours, you hear me? And you were saying time doesn't exist? In my bar, in any case, it does exist. And you've been sleeping here for two hours and getting pissed for two weeks. So, what do you say to that now? Eh?"

Hector's right eye is the first to overcome the haze of reason and the weight of whiskey and to begin analyzing what's going on. Through blurred vision, he can see Jack, the bar owner — for the second week in a row, he's been serving him free drinks, but today his patience is clearly running out.

The bar owner is going on and on, complaining about the nonexistence of time and those good-for-nothing young artsy types; meanwhile, Hector begins to explore his surroundings in a pathetic attempt to pull his shit together. One numb hand is grasping an empty glass, apparently still from yesterday, when suddenly something catches his eye. He's transfixed.

Time stops.

In the reflection of his glass, he meets the bottomless gaze of a woman he's never seen before, her eyes drawing him into an endless abyss. Who is she? Where is she from? How long has she been looking at him, lying there, sprawled drunk on the bar floor?

Her scalding cold gaze pierces through the reflection, penetrates under his skin, and examines him from the inside out.

If not for the glass, Hector wonders with a mixture of horror and curiosity, would he be able to endure the cutting blade of her gaze?

His already exhausted body goes numb. But the eyes in the glass immediately force him to sober up, jump to his feet, and look around. The blue-eyed abyss is seared into his memory, but the stranger has vanished into thin air.

At that moment, the whole world, that damn bar, Jack, and even his own body seem entirely unreal to Hector; the only thing he knows for sure is that he must see those eyes again.

Muttering something in response to Jack's incessant babbling,

Hector stumbles out of the bar through the fire exit with lightening speed, pushing and shoving people aside.

Once outside, it's easier to sober up. Hector's internal dialogue doesn't let up:

“That girl, her eyes ... there's no word to describe it. The horror, total submission, and unconditional love…

no, it can't be

my friend, you're imagining things".

Hector takes another look around to make sure that the moment is real.

His inner cynic is back on the job and has joined in the dialogue, analyzing what has happened with an air of ironic detachment.

"That business about unconditional love — sounds quite catchy. Must jot it down”.

A gust of cold wind pierces Hector, and it's as if that gaze has once again spied him out from around the corner, slyly taking the shape of the wind, the tornado 🌪 would fit the scale of the drama. That now familiar longing for pleasure and pain.

”No, it's just my imagination again", Hector pitifully tries to console himself, reaching into his pocket for cigarettes. "Get a grip on yourself, you're no psycho. Go for a walk, dude, chill out, get your head straight, your mind's starting to play tricks on you. It's a damn good thing you didn't get into a fight today. What time is it, anyways?”

He glances at his watch; obviously, it has stopped.

"Right, yeh, time doesn't exist. Well, I guess I'll just walk around the city until it starts to wake up. Hopefully I'll sober up by that time, and once again be able to force myself into some semblance of normal human behavior”.

The thought that the blue-eyed girl really was in the bar comes back to his head.

"Is it possible I was just seeing things? Of course, dude, you were so pissed drunk yesterday, and the day before, too. Face it — you're on a binge, and you've got the D.Ts".

Hector begins walking down the empty avenue. We'll never know exactly how long he walks, as he doesn't have a watch, but eventually the city begins to fill up with people, cars and light. Only in reverse order.

Sometime around morning

Hector is still casually strolling through the city streets, taking his sweet time trying to figure out whether it's a weekday or weekend.

Passing by a newsstand, he decides to buy the latest issue, hot off

the press, to help him navigate time and space. The newsstand has just opened, and the salesperson is already sitting playing chess with himself.

"Hey, Matt!"

"Oh, Hector, my man, how's it hanging? Didn't see you right away, got caught up in the game”. Putting the chess board aside, Matt comes up to the counter. "Whatcha doin' up so early? By the way, you look like shit".

"Yeh, fuck you, too....I don't recall asking your opinion", replies Hector coldly and quietly. "Keep your comments to yourself, and give me the day's paper and a pack of cigs instead".

"Yeh, sure", says Matt, dipping behind the counter, without interrupting the morning chat. "Can you believe it, they're printing that story for the second week in a row now".

Broadly speaking, there are two types of people: 1. those who wake up because they can't wait to start socializing with others after a night's sleep, and 2. those who need an hour or two to come to grips with the thought that they're not a deaf-mute part of society, load up on coffee, wistfully gaze into the distance, and only then enter into conversations. This division into types is clearly illustrated by the pair at the newsstand.

"Go to hell with this story of yours. Are you gonna give me a smoke or not?"

"Yeh, yeh, here you go", says Matt, handing Hector a pack of smokes. "The whole town can't stop talking about this anonymous writer..." persists Matt. "He's been writing this nonsense about unconditional love, and it's being published for the second week in a row. You'd think there's nothing else to print. Pfft, what stupid times we live in", bitches Matt, sitting down to continue his solo chess game.

Throwing Matt a quick wink and a few coins, Hector wanders off down the street of the bad news city.

Pausing at a traffic light, he finally firmly concludes that it must be a weekday. So many stiffs packed in neatly ironed suits (as if in mourning) — even these morons wouldn't do such a thing on their day off. Definitely a weekday. Moreover, the early part of the week — Monday or Tuesday. After that, everything gets crumpled.

His brain is clearly regaining its usual form. Some coffee would sure be good, Hector thinks.

Restless and bored, he continues to stare at the street for a second or two, waiting for the red light to change.

The humming of car engines, expensive and not, the hustle of a huge construction site building something completely useless, screaming bratty kids

with their backpacks, pushing and shoving each...in short,

definitely a Monday, no doubt about it, Hector lights a cigarette.

And then, suddenly, there it is again. He sees that penetrating cold phenomenon.

Сigarette falls. It's the mysterious femme from the bar, with that piercing gaze. She's standing right in front of him, on the other side of the intersection, smiling at Hector.

An obsession.

Hector stares at his hands, counting his fingers to make sure this is no dream, looks up, and sees her slowly crossing the road. Dream or reality?

Who knows and who cares. It makes little difference to Hector,

as he rushes after the girl, and nearly catches up with her, coming to a halt at a narrow passage crowded with people. Young people with leaflets are standing and mumbling something under their breath, some are smoking, others are nervously laughing.

He's trying not to lose sight of his obsession in the crowd, and when he finds himself in the very midst of this bustling anthill, he raises his head and finally realizes what all the fuss is about.

It's a no-brainer: the "Theater" sign on top of the building is too large to miss. Hector is standing on the steps of an experimental theater, and apparently the anthill around him is casting. Thanking his analytical mind for its quick speed and razor-sharp clarity, he sees his mysterious femme sweetly smile at a girl with a list at the entrance and then disappear through the door.

Once inside the stuffy theater, Hector grasps the full stupidity of his situation. A haggard and wasted body in a rumpled suit is standing, breathless, at the door to some unfamiliar place, waiting to be cast for something it knows nothing about; but there's one thing Hector knows for sure — at that very moment, she's on the other side of that door, so that's where he must be. At that moment, it all makes sense, and seems logical enough to quiet Hector's breathing and allow him to deal with the situation in an adequate fashion.

A beautiful thought comes into his head:

"If you entered this hell, then I must follow".

To be continued.