The Reincarnation
Chapter 5

John, now showered, looked at his dripping frame in the cloudy bathroom mirror. As he rubbed the side of his hand on the mirror, wiping away the condensation there, his reflection was revealed. It was of a wiry man. Whenever he saw a few pounds creeping onto his frame, he would starve them off, simple as that. He could easily go days on end without eating if he felt he needed to drop a little weight to continue looking good in his tailor-made business suits. Appearance meant a great deal to him. He prided himself on always looking good, feeling it was the least anyone could do as they made their way in the world. He made sure he lived up to his own high expectations.

“Lookin’ a little peaked, young man,” he jested to himself. He felt much better now that he had showered, but noticed his ribs jutting out from his chest. Too many long meetings, he thought, no time to eat. “Gotta get yourself to the gym.”

The shower had cleansed not only his body, but his thoughts of the office party. What was done was done, he figured. He had grown accustomed to talking his way into things; he figured if the damage was heavy, he would get used to talking his way out of things. Four years couldn’t be wiped out by a single night, he reasoned.

What propped itself up in his mind and supplanted the thoughts of the office party was a certificate he had never seen before and one that he couldn’t make out the words on. Other visions had come, one of a sweaty living room, and another of a small gathering in a kitchen. So that was what was going through his mind last night, he thought. That was a party too, wasn’t it? Dreaming while you’re awake, he chastised himself. What was in that champagne?

He lifted the lid on the toilet and sprinkled the water in it with a liquid that had a pinkish hue. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You’re losing your body as well as your mind, buddy. Better shape up,” he said, shaking, flushing it away, and trying to blame the color on the pink champagne.

Dressing in his Saturday clothes, which were basically the same as his weekday office clothes – sans the tie and the jacket – he left his apartment for the park, forgoing the coffee altogether.

Stopping halfway down the stairs he hesitated, then ran back up for the half loaf of white bread he had been promising himself for weeks he would feed to the pigeons. It was now green and sopping with moisture. He threw it in the trash and proceeded on his way, ever watchful for approving glances from strangers.

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