The room was dark, lit only by the bright moonlight that
slipped through the large panes of glass. Outside, night
had already fallen, but inside everything seemed frozen.
Antonio sat in the large leather armchair, his bare back bent
forward, stretching the muscles across it. His hair was scattered over
his shoulders. His eyes were open, but it was clear he saw nothing
before him; his gaze was hollow, glazed, and empty. His thoughts
had wandered somewhere else, thousands of kilometers away.
On a small table beside him stood an open whiskey bottle and a
half-full glass of amber liquor, the ice in it long since melted. Every
so often, he reached his right hand toward the small table, lifted the
glass to his mouth, sipped slowly, and set it back without looking.The thought crossed his mind to drink straight from the bottle,
just to make the thoughts disappear faster, but he decided to let the
drink seep into his body slowly, sip by sip.His left hand lay slack at his side, a silver watch on his wrist. It
did not move, and anyone seeing him would have thought he had
fallen asleep. On his knees lay a calendar, its pages creased at the
corners, evidence of the many times they had been turned. Every
day on it was marked with a thick red X, except for the “nal day.
That day was circled in black, standing out starkly against the red Xs.

The black circle reminded him of a deep abyss, an abyss it was
di!cult to climb out of.
The silence in the room was disturbed only by his slow
breathing and by the sighs that escaped him each time he remem‐
bered her.
He closed his eyes, letting the alcohol a$ect every part of his
body…
The memories began to surface.