[An excerpt from BUTTERFLY ARMAGEDDON, a SOUP WARS PROJECT]
Life on the porch was lazy and nice. The breeze blew lightly through the decorative wrought iron bars that enclosed the space. Songbirds tweeted sweet melodies. Analís sat on her rocking chair, knitting something or other, as she ate freshly baked cookies. At that point, her craft could've been a small blanket or an aspiring tablecloth. Hernán read a book entitled, "Overcoming Anger," while lying on the hammock with a tobacco pipe in his mouth.
"Hi Analís," Carlos chirped as walked in. When his mother lifted her head to greet her son, she became speechless. Carlos gave her a peck on the lips and continued en route to his room. She considered asking Adelina for some enlightenment, but thought better of it. She was Adelina after all. She knew instinctively that telling Hernán would be a bad idea. She quietly left her chair and chased after her son with knitting and tools in hand.
"Carlitos," she called out as she knocked, "are you in your room?"
"Yes Analís." It bothered her somewhat that he stopped calling her mother, like usual.
"Are you decent?" Carlos answered by opening the door wearing nothing but the kinky black curls on his head. He held an old Bible in his hand. Analís covered her eyes with her left hand. "What is wrong with you?"
"Everything..." Carlos tore out pages from his Bible at random. "Thanks for asking." He gently eased the door shut.
Analís knocked again, "Darling, do you want to talk about it?"
"No." Carlos sounded detached. "Just don't make me anymore meals. I won't eat them"
"What is wrong with you?" Analís's concern became more urgent. She knew something snapped in him.
"I don't know. What's wrong with everyone?" Behind closed doors, Carlos admired himself in the mirror. His hair was a thick with loose curls and some frizz from the humidity. His body was everything that he wanted it to be. He plopped himself onto the bed with closed eyes. He drowned his sorrows in fantasy.
"Is there anything I should know?"
"Yes." Carlos explained, "I'm going to starve myself because I'm sick of living in a world without love."
Analís cried out from the hall. "Your son refuses to eat or wear clothing. Please do something about him."
Her husband responded lazily, "He's an adult. He can do whatever he wants."
Analís opened the screen door and stomped into the porch, a begging her husband, "Talk to him."
"What's the point?" Hernán blew rings of smoke out of his mouth. "It was only a matter of time until he went nuts." He took another drag from his pipe before he added, "It's actually surprising he stayed sane for as long as he did."
"Ooh!" His wife angrily stormed back inside the house, hoping to talk some sense info the boy. Analís tried to reason with her son for over an hour, but to no avail. She retreated to the kitchen to prepare a cake. She started some rice with roast chicken and checked the beans in the crock-pot. As everything cooked and baked, she continued with her knitting.
***
Carlos walked out to the porch with an old tote bag that used to belong to Candi. Everyone stared at him, but no one dared say a word. As he made his way out of the yard, Analís announced that dinner was ready. Everyone was hungry, but no one really wanted to eat after seeing a naked man carrying a pink tote bag. It was too weird, but they had dinner anyway. Adelina stayed for dinner, but left for her crack binge shortly after she stirred the contents of her plate.
Carlos journeyed to a special place between Hidalgo, Alcalde, Independencia and Liceo streets, just north of the main Cathedral. Overgrown plants, tall grass and weeds overtook the once impeccable park. The beautiful monument was finished in 1954 to commemorate Guadalajara's most illustrious men and women in the fields of science, art, literature, politics, justice, education and basic human rights.
The mausoleum consisted of several bronze statues surrounding seventeen Doric columns holding up a gigantic ring with Spanish words meaning, "FROM JALISCO TO ITS ENLIGHTENED CHILDREN," engraved upon it. Inside the rotunda, over one hundred urns filled with ashes were lovingly stored. Grass grew between the cracks of the white limestone and cement walls that separated the inner areas of monument from the mess that had once been a lawn.
Carlos sat cross-legged and still nude next to the long extinguished "eternal flame" located on the very center of the rotunda. He read Milton's Paradise Lost and laughed at it as if it were a comic book. His only sustenance was a litter bottle of water. When he was not reading, he napped on the hard floor. This was his protest against life in general. He figured that starvation was a relatively painless way to die and that was his intention. The dying among those who had contributed much to the progress and betterment of the civilized society he knew before the SOUP Wars would be an honor.