The last night

_I swear! This is my biggest secret!

    As a young woman screamed those words like, "Help me please," hundreds of needles pierced her thighs in a sort of torture machine.

_You're lying! - Said an old man with crow eyes. He didn't blink as he watched his prey despair. 

    Everything was noisy and irrational in that shed blackened by the ashes of any given day, for every day is a day to say goodbye to something. This time what burned and flamed was the desire to wake up. And woke up!

    Frightened like a lost child, Oliver woke up from a nightmare whose theme was the same but never repeated.

_At least it was light torture and it lasted a little - he said as he headed for the kitchen to drink water.

    Oliver lived alone in a townhouse, was 32 but with the feeling that adolescence was coming. Since these nightmares disturb him - 5 years ago - Oliver doesn't know what being mature means. Do therapy twice a week with the best psychologist the money can afford and take all sorts of sleeping pills. Today your mind sleeps when your eyes are open and work with the passion of an alchemist when those eyes close. Oliver quit his job, stopped seeing anyone who could ask. At least his days were pure quiet.

    What do you do when you wake up? Get up quickly? Do you think about life? Do you take care of yourself? Well, Oliver thank. He is not grateful for his life; for what he see around him, much less for what he feel; he thank for being able to wake up, for escaping the old man who does not torture only those in that machine. Waking up to Oliver had magic.

    Another 32 days passed. Oliver is different. It was 32 more types of torture that damn machine proved to have. Does it never end? He barely blinked. He looked like an inner decaying zombie. If he had friends and family, it would be like having nothing, for they would surely interned him; leaving him at the mercy of that old man. Oliver was staring at the living room wall, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee that was not even tasted beside; the perfect image to symbolize distress. Suddenly, among empty thoughts that don't weigh on Earth, Oliver decides to think about his problem. His psychologist was full of such trouble. Neither did he have more patience to wait for confession than it hurts him. They would no longer see each other; that was right for Oliver, but what wasn't that he continued to procrastinate. If his problem could materialize, he would no doubt see that old man in front of him, look deep into his eyes, and kill him as quickly as possible so that it would not take a minute longer than it had to last. However this could not happen so Oliver sought someone to face.

    Here comes a new phase; Oliver was willing to forget the nightmares and live. He started going to bars and clubs to meet women. He treated them with care and attention, made them fall in love and confess their secrets in bed. When they counted they looked like hypnosis, and each time that happened the nightmare tortures became lighter. So Oliver could not stop; that was what he should do until the nightmares no longer bothered him. It will be? Oliver felt it was half hope. As for the other half, this one was distressed by the daytime problems that now arose. Oliver no longer knew what peace was; the stillness of his empty mind had been stolen so that absurd secrets would fall into place. It was unbearable, exhausting, frustrating, overwhelming! The secret of 29 women who once looked beautiful and charming and now turned out to be the worst kind. 29 damn secrets in a mind that tried to hear the hope that was now just a noise. 29 reasons to give up on life. Oliver decided to go to sleep. His nightmares were more beautiful than reality.

    Upon waking Oliver could not stop thinking about the last torture he witnessed sleeping. It had been truly cruel. One person confessed faster than anyone when saw that a peaked steel bar wrapped in a cutting wire would cross his neck. The old man was not satisfied. He hadn't even started to play with her! Activated the system that heated the chair to 80 degrees. The woman screamed for 3 minutes that she swore the only secret was what she had said - something banal. The old man looked at her with your raven eyes. Those eyes that make you somehow closer to death. Looking into those eyes there is no light to illuminate the tunnel, there is no truth other than that you will die. These were the eyes that watched with pleasure as the iron bar entered and destroyed the neck of the writhing woman who was ardently living her last seconds of life. Burning in the fire of memory ardently the will to thank. Better to think about torture for no reason than the secrets he knew. 

    Oliver could already be compared to the moon of so many phases! Another had begun. He hated women, had murderous desires, and in order not to commit any greater madness decided to go out with men. It had been 45 days since senseless torture had been repeated. Every night a woman told a trite secret, every day the old man had crow eyes and every day death came empty. He thought again that he had no other way but to seek secrets that deserved to be condemned. 

    One of his lovers once told him that his biggest secret was to love him. It was too much for him! He couldn't stand it. After all he did, being an accomplice to a sick and bloodthirsty old man! No, he could not accept. He punched the man to faint him, dragged him into the yard and buried him alive. In her mind a voice said "Look who's looking like me!" It was the old man's voice. Damn old man! It was official; Oliver went crazy. 

   Madness disturbs but also calms. As much as nothing made sense, whatever, he didn't even remember what was sense. Men were no longer attracted to him because they are afraid of what they cannot understand. So Oliver returned to solitude. "Better this way" would say time and time again throughout the day wandering the townhouse. At night men confessed all kinds of secrets; from the banal to the most amazing. By day he was a lunatic who did not feel and did not care and by night a helpless bystander who suffers more than the protagonist of the horror series.

    Tonight Oliver was the protagonist. He was at the torture machine confessing "I've always liked that. I've learned to appreciate every scream, every look of despair. All these pretentious and damn people deserve every needle, every cut in their skin, every drop of blood spilled. I always wanted to be you." The old man disappears with a look of misunderstanding, Oliver wakes up. Tonight Oliver knew more than he needed to know. Raven's eyes were on the balcony. A soulless body walked over, climbed onto the roof, and threw itself. Madness disturbs but also calms. As much as nothing made sense, whatever, he didn't even remember what it felt like, what it felt like. Men were no longer attracted to him because they are afraid of what they cannot understand. So Oliver returned to solitude. "Better this way" would say time and time again throughout the day wandering the townhouse. At night men confessed all kinds of secrets; from the banal to the most amazing. By day he was a lunatic who did not feel and did not care and by night a helpless bystander who suffers more than the protagonist of the horror series.

   Tonight Oliver was the protagonist. He was at the torture machine confessing "I've always liked that. I've learned to appreciate every scream, every look of despair. All these pretentious and damn people deserve every needle, every cut in their skin, every drop of blood spilled. I always wanted to be you." " The old man disappears with a look of misunderstanding, Oliver wakes up. Tonight Oliver knew more than he needed to know. Raven's eyes were on the balcony. A soulless body walked over, climbed onto the roof, and flopped backwards. The fall was fatal, but as it fell, the crow would fly and look at him with eyes that said "this was the last night."