En la pared, un calendario con la cuartilla del mes de enero desplegada tiene un día marcado, la marca: infinitos círculos desiguales y enredados rodean el número y una gran X roja señalan el día 24.
Un aluvión de palabras sin conexión aparente se desbordan en su pensamiento, antes de poder descifrar el sentido de las mismas, empiezan a cambiar a su antojo. Unos segundos después queda atónito cuando advierte que todas esas palabras ahora son la misma: "Marginación". Decepcionado, mira a su alrededor buscando alguna forma de vida que sabe que no va a encontrar. Está solo, aislado. Alarga la mano y coge la agenda de contactos con tapa de cuero negro de la barra de la cocina. Sostiene la M con su dedo pulgar y con un movimiento brusco deja a la vista la página que busca. Solo hay escrito un teléfono y un nombre: "Malta"
Saca el teléfono del bolsillo para marcar el número que hay apuntado en la agenda mientras repasa mentalmente el discurso en tono de amor y arrepentimiento que se dispone a soltar en cuanto descuelguen el teléfono. Ya ha marcado el número, su dedo índice a 1mm del táctil de la pantalla sin llegar a pulsarlo, un ruido del exterior lo asusta pulsa el botón. Al otro lado, una voz robotizada responde: "El número marcado no existe". Lanza el móvil sobre la mesa y cuando levanta la vista, frente a él, sentado cara a cara hay un niño mirándole fijamente y después de un cruce de miradas perturbador, el niño le grita: "La muerte no es el fin" y se desvanece.
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KTPEP026 - Tronemary's baby
On the wall, a calendar with the month of January's pastern unfolded has a day marked, the mark: endless uneven, tangled circles surround the number and a large red X marks the 24th.
A flood of words with no apparent connection overflow in his thoughts, before he can decipher their meaning, they begin to change at will. A few seconds later he is stunned when he notices that all these words are now the same: "Marginalization". Disappointed, he looks around for some form of life that he knows he will not find. He is alone, isolated. He reaches out and grabs the black leather-bound contact book from the kitchen counter. He holds up the M with his thumb and with a flick of his thumb, he brings the page he's looking for into view. Only one phone number wih one name are written in it: "Malta".
He takes the phone out of his pocket to dial the number he has written down in the address book while he mentally reviews the speech in a tone of love and regret that he is about to release as soon as they pick up the phone. He has already dialed the number, his index finger 1mm from the touch screen without pressing it, a noise from outside scares him and he presses the button. On the other end, a robotic voice answers: "The number you have called doesn't exist". He throws the cell phone on the table and when he looks up, in front of him, sitting face to face there is a child staring at him and after a disturbing exchange of glances, the child shouts: "Death is not the end" and vanishes.
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