Conversation · Electronic Doorbell

She doesn't answer.

"You said it was nice. What's so nice about forgetting?"

Silence. The only thing you can hear now is static and waves, washing ashore on the bay.

"I get it, you don't want to talk to me. No one ever wants to talk to me."

Another seagull passes by... It's getting cold standing here, staring at the silent call box.

"It must have been some kind of... faulty wiring. We should maybe stop playing with this doorbell, it looks ancient."

"Alright, it's a good-bye then." (Hang up the call.)

"Fuck!" (Hang up the call.)

"What just happened?"

Another seagull passes by... It's getting cold standing here, staring at the silent call box.

"I don't know what happened either." The lieutenant inspects the doorbell. "We should probably stop playing with this thing."

"Hey, are you still there?"

"Oh god, please don't cry."

"Listen, I'm going to hang up now."

"Of course I care. It's just that I've been going through some tough time."

"Michel? My name's not Michel. I'm Harry."

"Who are you? Where are you?"

"Khm-khm..." (Stand up straighter.) "Yeah, it's me. Here I am again, crawling back into your life."

"Sorry, I don't actually have any business here."

"This is the police, I need you to let me in because I heard there's a fridge in the cellar."

"Hold on, Tricentennial Electrics? I thought I was calling Slipstream SCA."

"Who is this? I've been inside this building, but I didn't see anyone from Tricentennial Electrics. This place is deserted."

(Lie.) "Yes, I've come to place an order."

Hang up the call.

"Fabron's Taxi..." (The rest has been burned off.)

Looks like someone has melted half the plastic off with a lighter -- the doorbell doesn't work anymore.

"Main hall, building B: WHIRLING-IN-RAGS."

Nothing happens after you ring the doorbell... They don't want to talk to you.

You're going to just stand there and take it from a doorbell?

No, I'll show you how a gentleman treats a doorbell! (Kiss the doorbell.)

Like a cat's whiskers, your moustache feels it first, followed by your lips: the corroded metal of the intercom, cold, unattainable. Now you're kissing the doorbell. The doorbell remains silent.

When was the last time you kissed?

"Khm..." says the lieutenant. "That's unsanitary." (It probably is.)

No way. I should beat the spark into it. (Punch the doorbell.)

Your fist crashes into the metal, pure physical vengeance. It feels good, at first, and then it starts to hurt.

"You just keep on beating those things, don't you?"

"No, I have explicitly stated that I am not the destroyer."

The lieutenant sighs but says nothing. He looks up at the building.

Say nothing. You've already taught the doorbell a lesson.

Twelve name cards on the call box read:

"Yes, I am the destroyer."

I should just leave the doorbell alone.

The doorbell agrees. The entire call box looks relieved.

(Empty card.)

This button looks new, but someone has removed the name card. Nothing happens when you try to ring it.

"Hmm... this button looks new. I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't been connected yet. Is it the dicemaker's?" He takes a step back, inspecting the other names on the list.

"Hmm... this button looks new. It's probably not connected yet." He takes a step back, inspecting the other names on the list.

[Leave.]

"Andro-Orlando Hair SCA."

You ring the doorbell, but no one answers.

What an ominous name for a hair salon... Doesn't bode well for anyone's hair.

Just seeing the words "Andro-Orlando" gets your hackles up. It's very existence is a threat to your masculinity, to say nothing of your hair.

"Slipstream SCA."

Whatever she says, it can't hurt you. You're a different person now. Stronger, healthier and...

Alright, maybe not healthier, but it's a bonus that you've drunk so hard you can't remember any of your past relationships. Oblivion's the ace in your corner.

Call her again. (Press the doorbell to Slipstream SCA.)

There's a light buzz as you press the doorbell, waiting for her to answer the call. It's cold outside, and you can hear the wind blowing into the speaker.

A strange, metallic taste fills your mouth, as you stare at the intercom.

There's the static again, whispering like a seashell pressed against the ear.

"Yes, hello, this is Tricentennial Electrics." It's the same voice you heard before. "Have you come to place an order?"