Black Halloween Eyes tefan Bolea

Another dark day, like invisible ink on a black background or like a shadow which
remains in the mirror, after ones features disappear. Horace went out to return some books to
the British Council and it seemed like all his townsmen were planning to compete with Tod
Brownings Freaks, but in a hidden way. Hidden thought Horace, because it wasnt really
obvious if it was just his perception or everything was in fact real. The people seemed
repulsive and persistent, much like the crippled who blame everybody else for their disability.
Watching them, Horace believed that he may be attending a Feast of Fools. However, there
was nothing spectacular in their behavior: they were the same pensioners, who sigh after the
nutriment bags, distributed by cunning politicians, the same greasy and unshaved day-
laborers, asking for a cigarette with fake humility or the so-called gentlemen with their total
arrogance, who seem to take pride in the fact that their epitaph will be written in Latin. An
arrogance which cannot deceive, because anyone can smell that their battle is already lost.
The day was and was not ordinary. On one hand, Horace was accustomed with the
urban fidgetiness and the total absence of a purpose that controlled the mob almost
mathematically. It looked like everybody was rushing to an unclear destination. Nobody really
knew where they were going On the other hand, the young man felt the very well known
(for him) morphology of a panic attack and he was trying to disperse it, to rationalize the
inner evil, which grew inside him. Why should I be afraid? If I get angry, I will hit them all,
like Beethoven with his stick! Besides the fact that tachycardia was extremely upsetting (like
a butterfly who beats inside the heart, with all its 50000 wings), he felt how a claw squeezed
his throat, very much like a crow, hidden his larynx and wanting to pierce him out in order to
get some air. That was it! Breathe through the nose! Slowly, count to 10, pause, then again
from 1, like Zen monks. The breathing trick worked for a while, just as he entered the British
Council. He returned the books, examined the shelves a bit and decided not to borrow
anything.
Back on the street, anxiety began to dominate him again, the shadows of the evening
being unable to help him, as they usually would. They want to finish me he thought
surprised. Everybody is talking about me and knows who I am. Everybody knows me and
they also know my thoughts. I have nothing that belongs to me, continued his thoughts to
ramble. Although he realized that only a tiny fraction of his thoughts contained a probable
truth, he was unable to repress his real anxieties, even if they were deceiving. He went
through his pockets: Where is the damn Xanax when you most need it? As he reached the
main square, he noticed that the frame of mind of the crowd seemed decisively altered.

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Horace realized that his perception probably depended on the depth of his anxiety, which
must have reached another level, but was it really so?
Besides, the townsmen appeared more aggressive, pushing him from time to time and
giving him hostile looks. Horace knew that he should overcome his usual contempt and use
his Darwinist skills and try to survive in this jungle, but he felt that his hands were tied. He
almost had the feeling that a voodoo priest kept walked him on the leash and ordered him:
Here. Good boy. Ugh, idiot! It was crystal clear: the mob was staring at him with hatred. A
deep hatred born from the solidarity feeling of the common man against the alienated. A
hatred that seemed to smash him in the face. This time I really go mad. Maybe they should
invent a new word for the insanity after insanity, took he a philological break, just as he
reached the central square, resting a bit in the shadow of the cathedral. He probably realized
that anxiety has many layers but what happens when one keeps going down? What is hells
deepest basement?
Troubled by his dismal state of mind and even more by the amazing transformation of
the mob, Horace thought it would be best if he immediately got home. He went along
December 21st Street, which surprisingly was rather unpopulated. An old lady with a meek
look almost hit him with the purse. The young man heard her chattering with her companion:
Horrible this inebriation. This is no inebriation, dear, it is something more serious From
a balcony somebody threw a flower pot in his direction. When he looked up, he saw only a
curtain fluttering. State of siege, will I make it home? he muttered. He chose Iuliu Maniu
street [Street] that appeared almost deserted, thinking it would be much safer, as long as the
elements do not begin to strike. He relaxed a little and started to slow the pace: fear almost
exhaled through him, coming out from him in waves. Fear of fear of fear of fear After his
psychological overload among the mob, who appeared to be in a lynching mood, he felt
something like a crown raising above his head. He felt he was able to travel through hell and
to leave it behind. He saw a deserted summer garden, close to Avram Iancu square and
stopped to have a smoke, fascinated by the excessive ivy. He didnt realize how much time
passed (did he smoke two or maybe three cigarettes?) but when he headed home, it was
already night. He was much cooler, almost serene and his walking was much lighter.
Suddenly he realized that he didnt know where he was. I should have gone straight
to Avram Iancu square but it seems I am in a different neighborhood or in another town. He
heard stories of decrepit persons, who got lost through the town, but that was peculiar for a 25
year old native. Keep going he said. At least out of curiosity. He appeared to be on a
street which seemed to go westwards, in the opposite direction. Perhaps I should go back.

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After a half an hour of confusion, while he smoked his entire pack and the passersby were
either absent, or completely indifferent (a fact that made him believe that the entire incident,
except this ridiculous wandering, was all in his head), he finally reached Iuliu Maniu Street.
This is where I started. I cant understand anything.
He passed along the bookshop, the electronics store, the summer garden where he
calmed down (and began wandering!) and he reached the Orthodox Church from Avram Iancu
square. Stupefaction! The square was crammed with a mob equipped with candles (almost
Easter-like but tomorrow is November!) and the entire mob was staring at Horace. The crowd
breathed out a heavy, fetid air and the young man almost thought that these arent human
beings but rather demons reincarnated in humans. They had completely black eyes, not only
the iris, the sclera as well, and when they grinned, you could see their sharp fangs, secreting
mucilage. A constant buzz was heard and at first the young man didnt see where it came
from. He finally understood that the mob was hissing, not like a horde of wolves but like a
cloud of locusts. The crowd fell suddenly silent and turned its attention towards the church.
Horace, really cool, began a strategically slow retreat towards Iuliu Maniu Street. From the
huge speakers a brief wheezing was heard then a speech followed: In My Name we all have
gathered here, in the heart of the necropolis. Prepare for the sacrifice, my brethern! The mob
raised their candles and howled a warlike Amen! that made the asphalt tremble. In My
Name, the voice continued with a less casual tone catch the bastard!
The crowd threw its candles away and prepared for assault, in a frenzy similar to the
fans of Tottenham when their team scores a goal to Arsenal. Horace sprinted to Iuliu Maniu
Street (a road which he became accustomed with) in a balanced mood, considering the
circumstances. The hissing and the poisonous smell from his back gave him wings. He left the
central square behind, then the central library and was heading westwards. At a given moment
he felt a jab in the rib and he fell down. Another one: Wake up you homeless loser and get
lost! He lay in the summer garden, where he even slept and the doorman was pushing him
with a broomstick: he didnt have a backpack, library ID, wallet anymore, only an empty
cigarette pack. Im going, uttered Horace dizzy. Give me a cigarette. I have none left.
Cigarette butts were all around him. Why did you smoke here? Give me a break,
commented Horace and finally headed home. It was a sunny day, even warm for autumn and
the gaiety of nature seemed to sweep away any nightmare. He quickened the pace towards
Avram Iancu square and he didnt notice the doormans hissing and his completely black eyes.