The Valedictorian Premise

by Ocious Wagner Artur

The sun was setting in an odd elliptic shape, just behind the peruvian villa, at least that was the last thought that crossed Mr. Eisenberg mind before he lit his last cigarette that evening. "Quite eccentric", he mumbled as he slowly walked out of the scarlet room, gracefully resting the worn-out leather elbows of his black jacket in the long-accumuled dust of the balcony, desperately trying to minimise eventual damage to this most exquisite piece of wardrobe. The man was rather old but still handsome in his mid-fifties, with that bon vivant glee that just can't be found anywhere these days. You know how nowadays everyone looks so over-confident and preposterous, ruthlessly prepared to every single threat that life would daringly be able to pose them? His eyes wouldn't shiver or look away, his hand would never shake not even in a fraction of second enough for the most powerful camera in the world could be able to grasp a glimpse of weakness or akwardness from his movements. He was subtle and pious, an exhaling presence of a thespian extraordinaire. Probably there was 
no way above this earth to explain that man. If there was any, some would probably render those traits a consequence of his unsurmountable lack of common sense. With a rather slick than athletic build, he dressed a dark grey suit with matching white leather italian shoes and belt. He wore a long white scarf over the even longer black coat, the one with the worn-out elbows that could almost be mistaken as an old jacket. "You see",
he mumbled again to himself, probably unaware that there wasn't anyone there to read his mind and grasp his hipotethic point, "there are people out there dying to know things I know", obviously an overstatement, but with some truth yet unnoticed at that point. As the orange sky gradually shifted into several shades of vermillion and purple, the man was made of pure pride, almost glowing an aura of self-steem so strong enough to convince anyone in the vicinity - again, no-one, for this matter - that he was indeed a winner - again, what he was not, for this matter. The man was the number one in his days. Top-grade student, befriended the most promising lecturers and tutors, made the right friends and the right choices, built a solid carreer fundamentally based on the premise that if you always do the right thing, there is no way to go wrong. He laid back for a while, inspecting and admiring the flourishing decoration of that latin haven and heaven. Gently caressed the closest wall, stroking up and down in a sensible sign of rejoice. "I have finally arrived at my destiny" thought as he filled his lungs with the warm tropical air. Twisting in a complete arc, the brick took only half a second from the ceiling before landing in the middle of his well-combed hair, fracturing his skull in such a perfect and miraculous fashion that the chief legist would curiously declare: "it's a perfect shot! one in a million! A lifetime achievement". Hard-working life, a brick in the head, instant death, a lifetime achievement. That pretty much sums it all, doesn't it?