Mercury (II) fulminate

DAY 00: THE DAY BEFORE IT ALL ENDS

6:00 a. m.

***

MATTHEW. The rain still hasn’t stopped.

As I lay in bed, I can hear the soft patter of rain as it reaches the ground, the mild whisper of the wind as it blew from one place to another, and the quiet sound downstairs of someone walking around.

I notice the cold, wondering if the thermostat was acting awry again, or if one of the guys played with it. I get up, not bothering to fix my bed, grab a pullover from inside my closet, and look out the window: everything outside looks gray, except for the trees, which looks greener than ever, and the lampposts, emitting orange lights. I can see a small number of cars on the highway, driven slowly with their wipers moving swiftly on the windshields. The residential houses only have a few lights on, and no business establishments are still open save for a coffee shop. I decide to have my breakfast there.

I put on the sweater over my pajamas, grateful for the warmth it gives. It is one of the blue pullover sweaters given by the university to freshmen students on their first day. I wear my sneakers for jogging, get my music player on the bedside table, and leave my room.

I pass by the common room and find Levine and Defoe. Andrew Levine, a fellow freshman, sits on the ottoman, reading Shelley, while Ronald Defoe, a sophomore and a member of the male lacrosse team, plays a game on his laptop.

“Guys, I’m having breakfast at Polly’s. Do you want to come?” I tell them.

“No, I’m fine,” says Defoe, not taking his eyes of the screen.

Levine looks at me, smiles, and shakes his head.

“Okay, suit yourselves.” I am about to leave when I remember the problem with the thermostat. “Hey,” I say. “Will one of you tell Rogers that the thermostat’s not working properly?”

“I’ll do it,” says Defoe.

“Thanks.”

I exit the dormitory. After I close the door, a light spray of rain reaches my face. I raise the hood of my sweater over my head, and then jog toward the coffee shop.

As I jog, I observe the white wisps of fog descending and slowly moving around me. I have always liked fogs, ever since I was a kid. In the island where my family lives, fogs are like trees: you always see them; they’re always around you.

The fog in the city reminds me of home, Saint Clare Island. Its shores where my friends and I used to grab shellfish for dinner; its clusters of trees, where we loved to play hide and seek; the noisy and smelly harbors, where we used to go and admire the biceps and the strength of the fishermen as they carry their catch; the tall grasses beside road paths, where we occasionally saw snakes of different colors – all of these, I remember.

My parents live in the rural area of Saint Clare Island. My father is a fisherman, while my mother stays at home, doing odd jobs. I am the third child of four, and although father catches a lot, it isn’t enough for all of us, especially when three of us are already in college. We mostly get our needs through mother’s inheritance.

The coffee shop has no customers when I enter. Polly, intently wiping her cups on the counter, smiles at me.

“Hey, Matt. Gloomy day, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I answer, sitting in front of her. I take the hood off my head and ruffle my hair.

“So, what will it be for today?” Polly asks, setting down the cup she was wiping and the white cloth she was using. She turns back and fixes her clothes.

“Espresso and a croissant.”

“Wait for a while, okay?”

“No rush.”

7:30 a. m.

***

MIKAEL. I am one of those who can’t wait to exit high school, and can’t bear to enter college. I have never liked school. There is never a time in my life when I like books. Well, except for my primary years, of course, when there were picture books and the like. But after that, none.

            Steffi’s a fanatic when it comes to topics about me going to college. Today, the letter from Friedrich Müller University comes, entering through the brass mail slot on our front door. It comes in a cream, hard envelope, with the insignia of the school stamped on the front.