Bu
The suicide office
The lights of truth
The stairs reflect a yellow light, even though today for S. they’re whiter and more lucid than ever. The shadows itself seem to be colourful, all colours coming from a wonderful palette. The stairs lead to floors that all look the same, one after the other. His walk is light, sure as he wasn’t for long time now. Happens the same when my laces got inextricably tied. Then, after few minutes of painstaking work, with the right move they are free, again. Finally, the life of this handsome man with well sharpened moustaches seems to have some relax. There are new colours and a small light at the end of his spyglass.
The office- world
A glass door opens and a secretary with a bored face and big ears takes the phone and calls. Probably using the phone get your ears bigger.
Hi, suicide Office? Secretary 136, yes. Any record of an appointment with mr. S. of the Animae?
“Any record”, oh how are hideous these office dialogues. As the client wasn’t authorised to be right, because he’s not part of the office. The client is not part of the procedure and it’s always better to check again. For this secretary the two hours in a bus just to be at 8 sharp in the office is not enough. If he wasn’t scheduled in his precious register, he would be possibly go to take a coffee in the bar at the corner. No way he would consent him to enter.
Ok, right. You’ve record of it? ‘Cause I dont. Anyways, with mr. Bu, perfect, yes, thank you. I let him go.
Ok, you can enter, mr. Bu is waiting for you in the office 235_B, right in the end of the corridor, then on the left, then turn right and in the end of that corridor he will be waiting for you behind a glass door.
Thanks, have a good day.
A world of corridors
And no answer, as he’s just a robot. A robot with big ears. But now there are other problems to deal with, first of all I saw that vase before. Yes I think we got lost. Sometimes it seems to be ended up in a hidden world behind the one we use to see very day. A parallel reality in which other rules apply, in which numbers and files and lines are the real rulers. A new hierarchy that is quite independent on the one outside this walls.
Digital soldiers
Not legs or arms are important here, nor the brains. The fingers are the one that have to be ready to check files in the database and be careful on writing a 5 which doesn’t have to look as an S on the register. Otherwise the guy walking right now in this corridors wouldn’t be an almost boss of one of the biggest Souls multinational in the world, but just a mere number 5.
Finally, Bu
Right, he said, and here we are now. A small man is waiting behind the glass door, a desk well ordered in front of him, his arms crossed and the sight lost somewhere else.
Puc puc
The glass door coughs under the fist of S.
Please, have a sit
Apparently whoever works in a Suicide Office uses less words than a souls dealer
Good morning, I’m…
Delayed. Mr. S. we had an appointment at 8 sharp, and currently is 8.12
I arrived at 8 sharp, but your colleague…
You didn’t have an appointment with my colleague. Besides, you had one for me 12 minutes ago, and I have a new appointment in 3 minutes, so we have to be fast
I need an information
Yes, tell me
I need the name and surname, possibly the address of the doctor which was working in the Yellow Hospital ten years ago
One second, please
Suddenly he goes through a drawer, searching with his stubby fingers for a special document to fill in. Now a question will come for sure, to let S. be part of this document.
Nature of the request?
Asks the stubby hands owner.
Is this really necessary?
The stoic gaze given by this animal office is a silent but quite straight answer.
Oh, ok, so the matter is very sensitive. My father the Governor died a month ago and…
Please stick with the facts, Mr. S.
Yes, so my father is dead and I need to know who was the doctor that authorised the implantation of his soul I gave to him as a present for Christmas
So, let’s write “personal matter” for short. I need few seconds, I must ask you to leave my office while I’m searching for the file. It’s for safety reasons, you’d understand
The watery handprint the hand made on the cold door almost dissappear, when
Please Mr. S., you can come back
The face is triumphant, Bu thinks it’s a kind of magic trick. With few click he has the information he seeks. Yes, the fingers are the new arms.
Did you find anything?
I beg you not to question the capabilities of the archive employees in the Suicide Office, we’re really efficient.
Sure, I didn’t mean… Anyways could I have the information I requested, please?
Doctor B., Beetles and Noses street, 23 int. 12 third floor, corridor 10
Thanks Mr. Bu
And the face of S., oh you have just to watch at it! So happy he cannot stop smiling.
Yes, goodbye
Goodbye
Oh, Mr. S.?
Yes?
The doctor you were asking about died this morning. I hope this information would be useful for your research. Goodbye, then
If a death occurred, the first person who will know it’s him, Mr. Bu, chief of the register session of the Suicide Office. The door closes, and with it the smile of S.
This story will be published once per week only, with all rights reserved for the story and its translations by Flyingstories.org and in the person of Daniele Frau.
All the graphics are handmade and designed with different techniques by Gabriele Manca, DMQ productions, who reserves all rights.
All English articles published in Souls (alive) proofread by Elisabeth Corcoran
