In the heart of London, in an alley forgotten by light long ago,
There stood a grey house,drowning in its silence like a stone at the bottom of the sea.
No one remembers when it was built,and no one knows exactly who lives there.
But every time the wind passes through the street,people whisper that in that house, something moves... or a ghost breathes with a human voice.
Behind those cold walls lived a man named Alexander.
Tall,slender-bodied, his face pale as if he had never tasted the sun,
His short black hair stuck to his forehead,wet with the room's perpetual dampness.
He always wore a faded grey woolen coat,a coat more like a shadow than a piece of fabric.
Every night, he sat on a dilapidated wooden chair, by his cracked window,
Next to him,his black cat, with emerald eyes,
He would slowly hold his cigar between his gaunt fingers,light it,
Take a deep breath before releasing the smoke towards the dark ceiling as if testing the shape of the sky up there.
From nine at night until midnight,
He remained in this state...no movement, no word,
Only a steady rhythm of his head moving right and left,
Right...left...
As if he were counting the pulses of time falling from his heart.
Meow...
The cat's sound broke the silence.
But Alexander didn't turn.Didn't care.
As if the sound didn't belong to this world.
He rose from his chair suddenly, opened the door slowly,
And went out into the dark hall.
He climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the fifth floor,
Then stood on the balcony,looked down,
And breathed as if making sure he still had lungs.
Then he jumped.
Booosh!
The sound of impact pierced the night.
Bone broke...and blood scattered on the asphalt floor like dark red flowers.
But what happened next wasn't normal.
Alexander,who was supposed to die,
Rose from his place.
Stood up slowly while all the house's lights turned on at once,
As if electricity had returned after a century-long outage.
From the opposite window came the voice of an old woman,
His blind neighbor who lived on the third floor.
She said in a trembling voice:
"What's that? Who's there?"
But she saw nothing, only shadows moving on the opposite wall.
As for the cat, it was watching from the window.
Its gaze followed every step as he returned inside.
He entered the house again,didn't speak, didn't sweat,
Climbed the stairs as if climbing inside himself.
Entered his room and lay on the bed as if nothing had happened.
Slept a deep,calm sleep... like a corpse deciding to dream.
In the morning, he woke.
Looked at the cat sitting in the corner.
Took a small plate and filled it with cat food.
Placed it before her.
But the cat didn't move.Didn't eat.
As if waiting for something other than food.
Alexander sat on the same chair, looked at her for a long time, then said in a faint voice no one could hear:
"You don't eat either... good."
Then he stood up.
Prepared his usual breakfast:cold black coffee, a piece of hard bread, and a little jam.
Sat at the table,drank slowly without tasting,
Then left,heading to his work.
He worked in a newspaper printing press,
Where words were recycled into news,
And lies were recreated into facts.
The place buzzed with noise,
The sound of metal machines rising above human voices,
And the smell of ink invading the air.
Alexander finished his work in silence,
But this time,a beautiful young woman named Leslie followed him.
She had recently started working in the same department,
And there was a strange glint of curiosity in her eyes towards him.
She ran up to him lightly and said with a hesitant smile:
"Hey! I'm Leslie."
Alexander slowly raised his gaze and replied coldly:
"Hello, Leslie."
She asked him shyly:
"What's your name?"
He paused for seconds, as if searching for the name somewhere inside his head.
Then he said:
"Hmm... Alexander, if I recall."
She looked at him with mild bewilderment.
"Are you new at work? I haven't seen you before."
He smiled lazily and said:
"Yes... apparently."
She laughed gently and said:
"Don't worry, I can help you settle in. The work here is easy, but the manager... is a bit harsh."
Alexander said without interest:
"Ah, I see."
She hesitated a little then asked him:
"Are you busy? We could have coffee together... to get to know each other?"
Alexander stopped, turned towards her slowly.
His gaze was completely empty,
And his voice when it emerged was like a cold murmur:
"And why?
What did you find appealing about me?
I am an incomplete, empty person.
I can't even smile without feeling disgust.
I only live through failed suicide attempts.
My face is pale like the dead,
And when I look at myself in the mirror, I feel a coldness running through my bones."
He spoke while his hands moved slowly in a strange way, as if not following his will.
His eyes were sunk in nothingness,and his voice was faint as if the air was afraid to carry it.
Leslie retreated with confused steps.
She looked at him with slight fear,then hurried away.
Alexander whispered in a barely audible voice:
"Good."
Then he continued on his way, with cold, slow steps.
His hands slack,his body hunched,
As if each step dragged behind it a heavy past unwilling to die.
When he returned home, the cat was waiting for him.
He filled her plate again,
But she didn't eat as usual.
He sat,ate his dinner in silence,
Then lit another cigarette,
And looked at the mirror hanging before him.
The mirror was dull, cloudy as if breathing.
He approached it slowly,
Took the rope,hung it,
And stood before the mirror.
He watched himself.
Wondered if he would resist,if he would scream, if he would feel something.
But nothing moved in his features.
He lifted the rope and placed it around his neck.
The mirror reflected his dead face—
Or perhaps the face of someone else entirely.
A faint sound…
A whisper emerged from nowhere.
"Alright... enough."
The voice came from behind him.
He turned quickly— the cat was looking at him.
But her eyes weren't ordinary.
In them was something human...something that knew more than it should.
"There never was a cat. It was you from the beginning.
Alexander who created himself as a mirror for his logical emotions,
Those that would have happened had he lived a logical life."
He returned to his true form,
His long hair,his stature imposing its own dread upon existence. He raised his hand and nullified everything—his logical copy, his entire life, everything.
Everything froze.
The air stopped moving,
And time bent as if observing itself from above.
.
.
.
Afterwards, in the middle of the night, Alexander left the house.
The old woman came out of her neighboring house.
She shouted in her hoarse voice:
"Are you the one making all this noise? Won't you let us sleep?"
Alexander stopped,
Turned to her with a strange smile,
And said with a profound calm:
"Yes, I'm sorry."
Then he continued on his way and departed.
And if apology were logical for someone like him...
He wouldn't have apologized.