Two years and three months was what took me finish my first novel, my small great work of art. But for Garmendia was enough a month to steal it.
Garmendia, Javier Garmendia, was one of my best friends and, like me, he loved Literature and dreamed to become a best seller. But, unfortunately, he had never an original idea. That is what I should have taken into account before giving him the rough draft of my story: a month later, instead of receiving his opinion about the book, I received a neat letter where he invited me to the launching of his novel: "Vertigo"… The swine man had not even bothered to change the title.
The book launch would carry out that afternoon in Dardo Rocha Building, and one of the speakers would be, nothing more, nothing less than Thomas M. Rocazo, the writer whom Garmendia and I admired so much. My indignation could not be greater.
Taking advantage of a distraction of my father, I could steal his police gun from his bedside table. I hid it among my clothes and I went to Dardo Rocha Building. At first, my plan (absurd, if you want) was no more than hide me among the crowd and, in the middle of the presentation, rise, aim the weapon at who once had been my friend and force him to confess his plagiarism. However, once in place, everything changed.
To calm my nerves, while I was waiting for Garmendia to appear, I decided to take one of the copies of "Vertigo" that lay on a stand. When I had it in my hands, my anger rose: the book cover was as I had imagined it. At that time, more than ever, I feel like the cold of the Glock penetrated my waist. Then, out of curiosity, I began to read the book until I came at the end and I discovered something that drove me more crazy, something that altered my plan drastically.
As soon as Garmendia was introduced to the crowd and he sat down behind a makeshift desk, I took the pistol, aimed at him and, after contemplating for a few moments his face full of terror, I discharged the magazine in the middle of his chest… The little shit had converted the end of my novel into a “bed of roses”. I couldn´t believe it. What Garmendia had done didn´t have forgiveness of God.
Translation: Marcos Zocaro
Original tittle: Final feliz
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