Morumbi, São Paulo, Brazil. Sunday — 5:45 am
THE FIRST SUNRAYS shone in the grey sky and went through the windows. In that small bedroom, there wasn’t a single sign of chances. Locked inside in his world of solitude, Lukas de Castro could not even close his own eyes. There he was, drowned in gloomy thoughts and hopeless anguish. Lukas felt he had faltered in life and didn’t hold the slightest of moral energy to overcome such situation, so he decided that thirty-three years of life was time enough for no longer experiencing life. Lukas could not feel excitement. He felt no love, anger, libido, revolt, faith... Absolutely nothing! Except a nagging and uncontrollable desire to die. Nothing seemed to make sense for Lukas. All those Xanax pills that once made him feel triumph, are now just a resilient sense of worthlessness, and his laughter slowly rusted in apathy for each and every one. His dreams, in which his strength used to remain, could not rescue him from his own destiny. Lukas now feels that the pleasure of life turned out to be as frivolous as his biggest ambitions. His enthusiasm was stolen in some part of his brain, and that caused him to disabled happiness and will to live. Lukas' life became a simple routine task, a nuisance-stormy penitence. Bored to death. Bored to himself. Lukas had entirely surrendered to idleness. He quit teaching Anthroponomy in a prestigious university in town. Dust had covered his collection of books and CDs. He felt so idle that he didn’t have the mood to light his long-time beloved Sasieni pipe in a cigarette holder. Lukas