We finally did it.
The object hovered above the sea, slowly beginning its ascend to the space, to the horror of the police behind us. They had formed a barricade behind us, and soon cars started piling behind them. The screaming of sirens killed the jolly atmosphere of the beach.
A dozen policemen surrounded my wife and me, each one standing a meter away from us. My wife wasn’t terrified, but happy, happiness that couldn’t be destroyed by men in brown with guns shouting ‘Freeze!’. She was happy, with the happiness a wife has when her narcissist husband had finally understood her.
It was true. I was a narcissist.
This trait of mine was spoken during weddings and funerals (kinda same, don’t you think), so people would do their best to talk less with me. Every time we got out of the gathering my wife would tell me that my narcissism got more attention than the brides or the dead.
Sometimes, an adventurous person would stand in front of me with pretended confidence ‘There is no medicine for y…your narcissism, only a miracle can do that.’ I would happily point out that this was the case with AIDS too. But then what they said was true. I needed a miracle.
And that miracle was in that DIY rocket that hovered just above the sea, desperately trying to take off. You might think how can a piece of colored plastic contain the miracle that had changed me into a law abiding narcissist to a loving public-enemy number one. Or how can a plastic hold the miracle that changed my quiet life into a crazy crash course.
