Mr.Flow Collection
Re.Touched Collection
Couture Re.Touched Collection
STORY
MR.FLOW
BY DANIEL DIOGUARDI
Cold and humid was the night. The moon was full, lighting up the street that divided an office from the real world.
Mr. Flow, finally at the end of his shift, looked at the clock that was sleeping on the wall, covered with dust and hope, with an old mark on the glass that seemed like it was crying.
Finally, it was 18:00. Finally, it was time to go home and celebrate his birthday.
Mr. Flow took his coat, which was poshly hung behind his chair, and his hat, which was laid next to the family photo, where an old glass of whiskey was waiting to be finished. He looked at the picture, and a tiny smile suddenly appeared on his face.
Lights off. Now the office was even emptier than before.
The green door of an old brick building was now open. A man was leaving the office, walking to the car. His shadow was definitely faster than him, or perhaps just a light illusion.
The car’s door opened, welcoming him to an empty space that smelled of cigarette and leather. Sitting in the car, Mr. Flow stopped for a couple of minutes, staring at the far woods. A million thoughts opened the door and sat with him. Neither a tear nor a smile; Mr. Flow was fully covered in sadness.
The car slowly moved along the gravel street. The red lights against the moon were the only warm thing that night. Dark was the street, with only a few shy lampposts leading the way. The night was as cold as the smile on Mr. Flow's face. What a glorious day for a human—to be born and to celebrate opening their eyes to the world without choice or reason.
From afar, an empty road, a few houses, and smoke from a chimney could be seen. Nothing but silence.
Mr. Flow parked the car while smiling at his wife, who gently opened the curtain and smiled back. He spent a few more minutes in silence in the car, now scratching his neck and looking at his fingers. A bunch of hair appeared; he blew them away and got out.
Walking towards the house, a small nest made with bricks and hope, he opened the door. His two daughters ran straight to him, happy and smiling. His wife, from the kitchen, cleaned her hands on a soft apron, then walked to him and kissed him. In that moment, four hearts melted together despite the cold.
His wife took his coat off, as he did with his hat. The little ones unlaced his shoes. Everything was warm and beautiful. He stopped for a minute to look around, to absorb that moment. As he kept looking around, his house had a different light, a different feeling. As usual, the house was clean and tidy, not a shadow of dust in the glass cabinet, nor a fork misplaced on the table. Everything was so perfect, everything was so warm.
The two young ones took their daddy to the dinner table, while his wife brought over the dinner. As he imagined, the dinner was perfect. Everyone was around the table, and now Mr. Flow smiles, smiles and happiness while the world was in silence. Not a cloud to ruin that beautiful and dreamy landscape.
All the finished food was well displayed on the table. Everyone was happy and well fed. The little window in the kitchen showed nothing but darkness from the outside. Mr. Flow sat looking at his two daughters while they played and waited for the cake impatiently. Again, he scratched his neck—a bit of blood this time. He suddenly cleared it off on the tablecloth and covered it up with napkins.
Not more than five minutes passed before gracious and clean hands carried a chocolate cake. One candle with a proud, soft flame was in the center. As his wife walked towards the table, a gust of wind put out the candle. She quickly picked it up, replaced it, licked her fingers, and lit it up again.
The daughters started singing and jumping on the chairs, looking at their mother. Then the wife placed the cake in front of Mr. Flow, touched his neck with her left hand, and kissed him. A tender "Happy birthday" came out of her mouth like a gentle melody. She moved her hand from his neck and sat down next to him, discovering a bit of dark blood on her fingers. She quickly wiped it off on the once-naive white apron, which now appeared anything but naive.
Small forks invaded the cake. Mom kept looking at the two young ones, and they simultaneously looked at their dad. The silence was broken by the sounds of chewing and teeth. All of a sudden, Mr. Flow started to cough, but nothing serious. After two more minutes, more coughing ensued, now lasting longer. The family kept eating. Another cough—more punches on the chest, but nothing. Now his face became white and then purple. Mr. Flow struggled to breathe. He looked at his wife; she was smiling. His hands went around his neck, trying to find a way to breathe again, but it seemed impossible.
Now the pain was getting bigger and deeper. He scratched his face and his chest. His head shivered. Agony and blood. He looked at his daughters, who were happily smiling at him. His mouth opened, and a river of vomit joined the cake. Almost dead, he fell to the floor.
The wife replaced the tablecloth gently and put some order back, while her right hand still ate the cake. Agony filled the room while the rest of the family kept smiling and eating.
More sounds of pain came from his voice. The sounds of breaking bones created an echo in that tiny room. Teeth grinding. His body started moving like a lizard with a cut tail. Vomit and clothes on the floor. More pain, more agony, and then silence.
Now the mom looked at the two daughters. They looked at each other, smiling. They put their forks down and went to the kitchen. Now, only the sound of the second hand made some noise in a room full of silence.
Mom and the two daughters, holding hands, created a line facing the table. The table that not long before was a place to celebrate now covered a body. Silence, the clock, and silence again.
A loud sound came from behind the table. More yelling, the sounds distorted and loud. Now a massive howling to the moon, so loud it could've touched it. A monster, a wolf, an essence was now on top of the table, howling while its paws, once feet, were on the cake. Looking around, the wolf kept growling towards the family. The wife smiled at the daughters, who were jumping for happiness. One last howl before a jump from the table, and with a tempestuous run to the little girls, within seconds, an open mouth showed all the wild teeth. Not a move from them just a loving smile. The wife opened the door facing the woods, looked the wolf in the eyes, and touched its nose. Staring at her, the wolf disappeared where it belonged.
Closing the door, the family started to clean up and reorder the place like nothing had happened. A blanket and a bottle of water were placed outside.
A quick look at the sky reminded them that it wouldn't be long before the moon took her away.