Fluorescent Creatures
John Clayton left his office in a hurry that November afternoon, deciding to take the stairs so as not to share the elevator with the rest of the staff and thus avoid any social interaction. Once in the hallway of that enormous business building, one of many in the capital, he put on his dark glasses and tied his hat to cover his face well, took a deep breath, and, as if about to dive, began to walk with a stealthy appearance and at a mysterious pace, hurriedly skirting the stone and stained-glass walls of the great metropolis.
The situation had become unbearable for him; the city was full of luminous beings, entities that saturated the environment with brilliance. Everything had happened in an accelerated manner, and he could not define the chronology of this process with certainty. The individual fluorescences exploded in whites from every corner. In the streets, doorways, cafes, and institutions, a constant joint display of an intense aurora dazzled him and hit his eyelids. He no longer defined the features, the lines, the contours, and the textures of things, only a warm, albino mass that punished the senses and that everyone seemed to accept and promote within the new normality. He had been thinking during his hours of mechanical work about the theory of the “boiled frog” and how this experiment could be inaccurate, but that, as a simple analogy, it correctly explained his suffering in the face of the dizzying transformation of an environment that seemed uncomfortable, irresistible, and that definitely threatened him.
He quickened his pace as much as he could within that swarm of phosphorescence. This time, the road seemed longer and more frictional than usual. He needed to get home as soon as possible to take refuge from the environment and put an end to that boredom. He also sought to discuss with Calypso, his wife, the phenomenon that overwhelmed him and finds in her, at least, some support or relief that would comfort him in spirit.
Finally, he arrived at his residence, took off his raincoat and hat, left them on the hanger at the entrance, took off his glasses, and went up the narrow wooden stairs that led to the second floor of the house; he turned in the hallway leaning on the railing and delicately opened the door where he knew he would find Calypso. Indeed, there she was, standing, contemplating herself in front of the full-length mirror, but to his surprise, also illuminated and radiating, even with greater power than the others due to the reflection of her image in the glass. Despite his love and his greatest wishes, John Clayton could not endure this new radiance’s violent emission and exposure. They had all been taken by a luminous plague, and he had been deprived of his last hold, exhausted of his last resource, and defeated like the species which natural selection abandons. He closed the door without her noticing, and shuffling down the hallway; he headed to the room at the back that had once belonged to the servants. He locked himself in and lay down on the bed, dying, gasping for despair, thirsting for the densest darkness, and no, it was not that he longed for any death, but for peace and reason in the face of so much light, synthetically and artificially induced.
