In a lonely street in Dublin named 13th Rogers Avenue, the rain was beating the dark wet cobblestones. Because of the full moon, they were shiny, and glittering, as if black had turned to a bright and silent white.

Mark Oprey, in his DB5 Aston Martin which literally came from the past, was coming back home from work, downtown, at Stoneybatter. His job constantly put him under pressure, but he can't tell anything about it to his friends or family. After parking his «jewel», he went out of it, smoothly closing the door. Crossing the street alone, as if he was the last survival of a cataclysm. This malevolent atmosphere that he could feel, gave him the creeps. Pushing the buttons of the metallic plate located on the left of the old heavy door, he frowned and giggled, but in a particular way, as if he wasn't understanding something. Indeed the number 6 was missing on the plate, the problem was that his code was composed by a 5 and three 6. So he called his neighbor Mr Roppi, but although he waited for long, nobody answered.

I was thinking that Mr Roppi told me that we could force the door because he did it once. This was the icing on the cake, I was exhausted and I had to be violent now, at 9pm. Without any determination, I knocked at the door after two attempts I blew the door out. I was near my home now.

So he went upstairs in less than 30 seconds, opened the door and got into his flat. He put his key on his desk while rubbing his feet on the carpet.

I noticed that some dry mud was already on my carpet, but it must have been me this morning.

I walked through the living room and went to the kitchen, to take a cup a coffee.

I turned on the little light beside the nespresso. The sound of the machine was noisy in this silence. My coffee was ready. Just after that, a scratch, made my tongue burn because of the hot coffee. Suddenly, I started to feel fear, my heart was beating faster and faster. So I prepared myself to unsheathe my Colt-47.

Time was flying but Nathalie told us to retreat silently, until Mark turned the light of the living room on. I was a bit nervous, as usual we had to hide ourselves as when we played games in our childhood. Thinking about how Mark would react, I brought down the present that I wanted to give to him, at that moment I knew I had ruined everything.

The plastic box fell on the floor and rebounded three times before stopping.

Briskly, I heard a metallic crash as if something had fallen on the floor. That was too weird and the flat was too dark. So in less than 10 seconds, after having my feet touched by this plastic box which was coming from nowhere, I had the time to cover my head, put my colt on the kitchen bar and switch the light on.

The gunshot burst out the silence, a scream came from the living room, Mark came out the kitchen bar and saw what he had just done.

A woman was on the floor dying and Mark's friends were around her, crying without a word...

Colored garlands over them, and some baloons were flying in the middle of the room. Mark, beginning to understand, walked nearer the band. He couldn't believe his eyes, Lara, his wife was now dead on the floor.

He who was always complaining each year that nobody cared about his birthday...that bithday party, tonight, would be a special evening indeed, forever engraved in his memory.

Written by Louri and Enzo