Work. Going home. Gotta work at home.
Change. Going to change. Gotta have change.
And on his way home, when he passed by the shiny black bags of garbage lying on the street waiting for tomorrow's morning garbage men, he heard it.
The Screaming Cat was crying for help.
He lowered his head closer to the bags, and the sound was louder.
Study. Going to read. Gotta study to stop reading.
Run. Going to find. Gotta run before it's too late to find.
The heart pounds faster to each screech. The Screaming Cat needs your help, he thought. Buried under those funky moist bags, which were secreting a clammy viscous liquid, there he was with it.
Believe. Going to structure. Gotta believe in the structure of reality.
Die. Going to buy. Gotta buy enough so I don't die.
Slowly he backed away from the bags, and the weak street light over them started to blink. Beautiful trails of red and yellow were drawn in the darkness as sparks fell to the ground and into the night when the lamp exploded. He coudln't see a thing except the dim light of the lamppost on the next corner, meters away from him.
The Screaming Cat was still emiting a muffled weep, in despair.
He looked at his watch and remembered he still had a thousand things to do.
He walked away, in a hurry, hoping to find a 24 hour ATM.
The Screaming Cat was no more.
*Publicado em inglês porque a história foi assim concebida.
