Signs of madness

By Luis Manuel Ruiz Morales

These are happy stories, written at night, about fallen characters. To those who are united by desire, no matter if fulfilled or not, of each one of its inhabitants: desire to die, to revenge, to transform their life, to be better. They are, moreover, full of humor, and absurdness, because I consider it the best way to approach disappointment.
The reader will find that each one of them is part of a whole, as a body, in which sometimes the organs (characters) are subordinated to the inertial movement of the circumstances (development of argument), and work only by obligation.
The purpose of these stories, which is the author"s, is to approach the original form of everyday life. But not to that of breads and chickens (for fish). The pretension is to submerge in the psychology of common characters, almost legendary, to subvert every prejudice or affiliation towards them.
That is why each character does not subordinate the story to itself, but is going to face it as best it can. Perhaps for some time, the reader may be surprised by loving, as a result of solidarity, one of these literary entities. He runs the risk in addition to feel identified, falling on the so feared "what would I do if I had such a thing happen to me."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guantanamera
• Release date: Jul 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9788417283346

Luis Manuel Ruiz Morales

Luis M. Ruiz (Havana, 1987). Law graduate, he has participated and obtained prizes in competitions at municipal level, as well as in the University. He has several poems and short stories published in digital anthologies. He linked to literary creation workshops, as well as to narrative courses. He recently graduated in the Workshop on Narrative Techniques taught at the Onelio Jorge Cardoso Center. In Cuba, of course.

Book preview

undressing.

Lost Illusion

My girlfriend is a sex doll, I want to make that clear from the beginning. I say it without any shame. I can imagine your faces of disgust by now. Pervert, gross, you should get a real girlfriend, those will be some of your comments. And I laugh at you. Because my Lucrecia, that is her name, is far more human than most wives, women or lovers.

Let’s see. How many times have you arrived home to be received by your couple with the same smile they had in the morning, a few, huh? How many of you can drink a beer without a judgmental stare from your girlfriend? That stare that goes from the beer head on your lips to that yeast belly of yours. There are thousands of examples. But the main deal, at least for me, is the serenity, the magical silence, doesn’t matter if I don’t shower, if I smoke too much or if I don’t cook. Not a single complaint and I love her more and more.

Besides, Lucre is my guarantee. She is the certainty of a love which is only ours, no mother-in-law’s, no children. Without the eternal concern of when to start a family. She never demands from me the maturity of a future father. I have decided long ago that I do not want any descendants, this is why we are made for each other.

This is why I take care of her so much. If the day is too hot, I keep the fan on, so she stays in unmarred. I wash her once a week and I retouch, every time I can, her features with foreign acrylic. Lucre is my treasure, the only one capable of giving me what I need, peace and assured fidelity.

When it comes to sex, well, now it is just average, I’m not going to lie. At first it was exciting, every day I discovered new pleasures, positions. There are many perks in a boneless girlfriend. I was just a little annoyed at the fact that she doesn’t talk, but I adapted her with MP3 recordings from porn movies and everything was great. Also, not using a condom, and not having to worry about sexual transmission diseases made our relationship way more delectable.

Then months went by, and the thrill slowly faded away. But hey, it’s all my fault. After all, she does what I want. That is why we only make love the day before holidays or anniversaries. The reason for it, is that I like having large dinners on this dates, and I don’t like to hit the sack when I’m full. As you can see, even in that sort of things she is comprehensive. But I have to leave her.

Turns out that a couple of months ago I went out for some detergent to bathe her. I went a long way, but I could not find the one that I always use. I ended up buying one which, according to the clerk, was as good as the other one. But after a few days of washing her, some pimples appeared on her face, and her body seemed to be gaining volume.

The first thing I thought it was that the detergent. I looked at the label and compared it with the one I always used. All of the ingredients were the same, except for one. The new one contained a solution obtained from equine uteruses, which it seems, is highly loaded with estrogens, that’s why The use of gloves is recommended for this product.

None of that explained, unless Lucre was allergic to horses, the reason for the physical changes on my girlfriend. But truth be told, she was getting heavier and heavier every day, and it might sound nuts, but I swear that her smile was no longer the oasis of tolerance it used to be. Even sex became so monotonous and boring that I would rather avoid it. I felt desperate at this. I could not explain why my relationship was going to shit.

That is why I left to my mother’s, and left Lucre behind in the closet. I thought that a time away from each other, was what we needed to clear our minds.

But destiny is cruel and it inevitably forces me to leave her. Because that day, as I was locking the door, nothing made me think that today, five months later, I would find her, still naked in the closet, with an unmistakable pregnancy belly.

Felines

To Darcy, my love and dream.

—Misicat, sweetie, stop licking my toes —Stop licking Julius’ toes, Misicat, you’re going to get sick —Meow, meow —Very funny, Lila. You should not say something like that Lila; you have not showered for three days now —I am communing with nature. Come Misi, commune with me —Meow, meow —Whatever. You can always do like the cat and lick yourself. —That’s what you’re here for; you lick my privates better. Isn’t that true my pussycat? —Meow, meow —What does this animal know about how I lick you? —Misicat knows everything —Meow, meow.

Lila rests her head over my belly. She’s drunk; almost as much as I am. I am caressing her hair, and humming a lullaby, I know she’s not listening to me. We’re alone at the house; in despair.

The cat died yesterday, it was lying next to the bed when we got home; after a month at my mother’s house. We did a dignifying funeral. I wore the only suit I have and Lila wore the lace dress I gave her for our own son’s burial. Frederick brought an ivory tombstone from the ones he steals from the cemetery and stayed for the ceremony. Lila gave a beautiful speech about kindness and reincarnation; I played the violin and: we drank, we danced, we cried. Then we fell asleep and Frederick buried Misicat in silence.

Lila says the cat’s tomb was exactly as she wanted. She likes the tombstone. I know she is right, but I’ve seen how my neighbor’s son will break into the backyard and will steal the ivory piece, which he brought earlier to ingratiate with Lila. I have seen how: the name MISICAT, the title BELOVED, the word PET and the initials RIP, crush against the sidewalk, because the young rascal tangled with one wires from the fence and, avoiding a slam from the fall, dropped the little tombstone.

Lila blames me for Misicat’s death because I left him with that neighbor who didn’t take good care of him, everything just for going to my mother’s. She says she will soon become insane with pain and accuses me of not loving our cat, and I understand her. I have not grieved his death. And I knew he was going to die; he had shown me in my dreams along with Frederick’s burglary, the neighbor’s son.

Wake up Julius—she tells me,