章節 47: Chapter 47: The Last Night

Suddenly there was a knock at my door. My heart skipped a beat, I was startled. It was one of those events where you get lost in your thoughts and don't notice anything moving. Periodically, I had almost dropped my cup of supplements when I saw my mother or my sister Meg sidling past me. As with people, I also had noises, whether it was people at the door, a knock or a scream. All I was aware of now was the roaring of my ears and the feeling of inertia in my body. If I lay still now, the person would disappear again. But it remained a persistent knocking. At some point, annoyed, I swung myself out of my springs and trudged to my door frame. I pushed the handle down and yanked the hinges open so hard that my hair, which had fallen over my shoulder, was blown back. In front of me stood a guard whose face or name I had never seen before. The light in the corridor was dimmed to candlelight. The guard's hair was sleepy and crumpled. He wore his shirt misplaced, the omitted button causing a blister on his chest, apparently the white vest. He stood at attention in front of me and didn't move a bit. I cleared my throat, "What is the reason for your marching up?" What time was it anyway? He seemed completely out of his beat. Now, at last, he dared to speak, "I am very sorry to disturb you Lady Woodstock, but I must take you now." The next moment he grabbed my arm. "The less you refuse, the less I have to restrain you." It was all so surreal, like something out of a bad movie. "Where are you taking me?", I whispered with a quivering lower lip, my eyes filling with tears, my nasal secretions liquefying too. He dragged me down the stairs on my way to the studio. "You get that what you deserve?" his voice was expressionless and thin. The next moment I was wearing a tasteless blue folk-style sequin dress. I stood behind a stage door and a crew member called out, "Are you all ready?" My hair was draped up into a curly head. My face was smeared with the gaudiest colours I could imagine. The guard pushed me in front of the red velvet curtain, it billowed on both sides. All I saw was a piercing light, my eyes burning like fire. I squinted them shut and was taken in by someone. The crowd roared with anticipation. "And here is ladies and gentlemen, the beautiful candidate Maybelle Juliette Woodstock." There was clapping, whistling and shouting for my name. I stood at attention, overwhelmed, feeling like everything was passing me by. The presenter was wearing a grey suit, with a glitter microphone in his hands. He smiled into the still camera, hissing between his teeth that I should please smile, as this was a live recording. I sat down next to a lily-coloured partition. Behind me, a large, mechanical, red heart was pounding. I felt the vibration flow through my veins, it gave me goosebumps, as so many things do. I smiled and wink tensely at the crowd. The host Garry Blueberry, who dropped his name at one point, turned to me and read from one of his many index cards. They were, of course, printed with the show's logo. "Maybelle, you signed up here on our show because you are looking for a man for life. You are single, have many secrets and work as a maid." Now it dawned on me: I was in a version of the ancient show "Herzblatt" from my grandparents' homeland. Here there was one or one looking for a date. there were 4 partitions in total. Behind each wall sat a different person. It celebrated a revival in the 21st century but was cancelled just as quickly. Streaming services conquered the world, the language of youth was now no longer "I'm sorry, I don't have a photo for you today", but "What are we binge-watching today?". "Yes, I am," I replied to Mr Blueberry. "Are you already excited to find your husband among your three chosen sweethearts?" The audience quivered. The index cards were exchanged: "Do you say Maybelle, or should I rather call you Belle? What is most important to you in a relationship." Before I could say anything I was interrupted, Garry tapping the shell of his ear and licking his lips in concentration. His eyes were fixed on the floor with markings, he was already pretty whacked. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sweetheart number three begins suicide with a glass of poison." A sad murmur resonated through the room. "However, you still have two more heart leaves to choose from. Who will you choose?" I was told to ask questions of my two candidates, so I did. First, it was mundanities, then deeper ones. Finally, I was blindfolded and kissed them both. "Who will you choose, one or two?" I chose the last one, with whom the kiss was more intense and intimate. I was sure this had to be my dream man. I loved the smell of him, the feel of his fingers on my skin. "I'll take number two," full of anticipation, I took off the blindfold and stared into Martin's face. Nearby Nicolas, whose eyes radiated disgust: "I knew it, I'm not the only one."