Bobby

It was the brightest Sunday of April, spring was showing off its colours, smells and sounds.

He woke up at the same time as always 8:00 am; his hands, stained with last nights´ paintings work. He looked at them, a sudden rush of angriness appeared.

His stomach was making weird noises, these sort of noises you hear in scary movies.

He was very hungry, but the sadness and laziness didn’t allow him to even pour some cereal and milk in a bowl; so he drank his favourite morning drink, Beefeater in a plastic cup, a dirty cup that was lying on the floor next to his bed.

Swallow the drink with a sour taste and finally some piece of mind.

Bobby you are all right, why are you sad?

He spoke out loud. His hands were covering his eyes, as if that will make his world disappear and transport him into a better one.

He uncover his face, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, Gin on his hand and a tear running down his face.

The phone rang, too sad to answer. Five times it rang.

Bobby you still feel sad?

He told to himself with a smooth and sweet tone of voice.

After two hours of being in a state of numbness.

Bobby went back to bed, the phone rang, and five times the phone rang and rang.