With an agile gesture, almost like a reflex conditioned by the thunder tearing through the sky, Colin grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over his head.
Time seemed to have distorted, merging with the sounds of the storm outside. Hours seemed like minutes, and sleep stubbornly evaded his attempts to hold on.
His restless body stretched towards the wooden bookcase, his fingers meeting an icy sensation.
His senses, dulled by sleep's torpor, barely noticed the touch of his fingers as they grasped the cell phone. The device was as cold as the touch of a specter.
Slowly and carefully, Colin slid the phone under the covers. Its screen lit up with an almost blinding glow.
He squinted his eyes and looked at the time.
5 PM.
A long yawn escaped his lips. He pulled back the covers with a lazy gesture and sat up in bed, his fingers scratching his tired eye.
His slender, weary body seemed to defy gravity as he moved away from the bed.
It was as if ethereal roots were keeping him anchored in that dreamlike world.
With firm determination, he finally stood up.
His body, slender and fragile, seemed to defy gravity as he moved away from the bed, leaving behind the seductive embrace of sleep that stubbornly seduced him.
He navigated the chaos of his room, struggling to move forward as he stumbled over piles of clothes thrown carelessly on the floor, next to plastic bags full of garbage.
That sight transformed a house after a hurricane into an oasis of order in comparison.
Colin groped the wall, which was even colder than his cell phone, until he found the light switch.
The scene revealed by the sudden light was nothing but extreme sloppiness.
Manga and comic books were scattered across the floor, while empty packets of cookies and snacks blended into the landscape.
In the background, the computer lay disorganized on the table, surrounded by empty energy cans
Some cans were half full, others half empty.
A scene worthy of a health nightmare made even worse by the unbearable smell that permeated the air.
Even his neighbors had protested against the stench that, like an unwelcome intruder, infiltrated their kitchens, but their concerns were mere distant whispers to Colin.
In the midst of this pandemonium, Colin faced a small internal battle before mustering the courage to turn the door handle.
The sharp, drawn-out sound of the door opening was the prologue to his foray into the corridor leading to the kitchen.
His footsteps were a soft whisper, cushioned by the thick socks that, despite the chaos, still kept his feet safe from the unrelenting cold of the floor.
Finally, he reached the fridge and opened it with almost reverent care.
For a few precious seconds, he gazed into the fridge, his eyes scanning the array of gastronomic temptations.
The energy drinks and bottles of alcohol caught his attention, but he ended up finding a bottle of milk at the bottom.
Without much ceremony, he shook the carton of milk near his ear, as if hoping to uncover some hidden secret.
Then he brought the carton to his mouth, turning it over to enjoy the last drops and quench his thirst.
With a nonchalant gesture, he tossed the empty carton into the wastebasket next to the fridge.
The garbage, that eternal heap of neglect, was almost overflowing, as if rebelling against its master's indifference.
Colin's neglect had created a welcoming environment for unwanted fauna.
Mosquitoes buzzed lazily through the air, cockroaches sneaked through the cracks in the kitchen, and daring rats roamed the shadowy corners.
But Colin remained indifferent.
That pandemonium was an extension of his inner world, an externalization of his emotional disorder reflected in the bowels of his home.
His kitchen stood opposite the living room, and as he turned his head slowly, weighted by melancholy, his eyes fell on the floor of the doorway.
There, tangled in a carpet that had long since lost its original color, lay some letters.
Did someone write to me?
Colin struggled with the reluctance that prevented him from facing the pile of accumulated correspondence—a small mountain of problems he would rather avoid.
He settled unassumingly on the carpet and picked up the first letter.
It was from the bank, a distressing reminder of the debt that hung over him like a sword of Damocles.
It was about a reckless loan to finance an ephemeral business that had collapsed in a matter of weeks.
Colin shrugged, as if the weight of this situation could be eased by his indifference, and put the letter aside with a casual gesture.
The next letter offered no relief.
It was yet another eager demand for one of the many debts he had accumulated on his credit cards. It, too, was tossed onto the pile of neglected problems with the same disinterest.
This repetitive cycle continued for endless minutes until, finally, a singular letter interrupted Colin's monotonous routine of indifference.
[Yale University.]
Just as his eyes fell on the letter's sender, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, sending out a blinding flash followed by a deafening bang.
Colin swallowed hard, a myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind. Although he was usually indifferent to everything, this letter was different.
With trembling hands, he held the envelope for a moment, studying it before mustering the courage to open it.
The envelope felt as heavy as his own heart. When it finally gave way, the muffled sound of the broken seal was like a dark omen.
The paper that emerged contained words that, for Colin, carried the weight of the world.
Hypnotized, his eyes fixed on the black lines, he began to read. Each sentence was a stab in his chest, a new blow that deepened his anxiety with every word.
His breathing became heavy, almost unbearable, and a feeling of dizziness came over him, as if the very air was being sucked out of his lungs.
When he finished reading, his body felt heavier than ever. It was as if a ton of stones had been deposited on his shoulders.
"Rejected again. What a surprise…" he muttered to himself, crumpling the letter in his trembling hands.
Before getting up, Colin gathered the letters into a pile and threw them into the trash can, pushing them down with his foot.
Tired of the frustrations of real life, he sought refuge in a virtual world, where he felt stronger, more powerful, and in control of his own destiny — a place where the rules were shaped by him, not by others.
He made his way back to his room, switched off the lights, and turned on his computer with a flick of his big toe. Then he settled into his padded chair, pushing aside the energy drink cans, which tumbled across the bedroom floor.
The blue glow of the computer screen flooded the room.
"Right, time to relax." He put on his headset and, as usual, entered an online game where he wasted most of his time.
This was Colin's escape, a reality shaped by fast food wrappers, empty energy drink cans, and the relentless sound of mouse clicks.