Free The World of the End by Ofir Touché Gafla

searched for other valuables and only then noticed me. She pulled me out, looked at me briefly, and flicked me to the sidewalk. I was devastated. I knew it was the end of me. A picture on the sidewalk? How can you extricate yourself from that type of situation? Desperate, I cursed the thief, lay down on my back, and waited. Shortly, any moment now, they’ll step on me, trample me, throw me … throw?
    Yes, after less than a moment the wind came to my aid. She came out of nowhere, a strong cold gust that lifted me off the face of the sidewalk and pressed me close to two intertwined plastic bags, the three of us flying as an improvised kite. I tasted freedom for the first time in my life—no albums, no frames, and, most importantly, none of you, people. Even though I feared the fall, I enjoyed every moment. The inevitable happened in the early evening. The wind tired and I found myself torn from my random friends, landing at the entrance to the new Central Bus Station. Trying to escape the stampede of passengers, I felt a small hand lift me up. I looked at him and screamed. A kid. A kid. They’re the worst. Wild, cruel, dirty, heedless. His fingers were oily and I remember how disgusted I was when he smeared my edges with lamb- and onion-smelling paws. I almost barfed. I wanted him to get rid of me so bad, but the little idiot just folded me up and stuck me in his pocket. The woman by his side hustled him along. The two of them entered the station, got on the down escalator, and waited for the bus. While the louse petted me inside his pocket, I cursed Kobi with everything I had. They got on the bus, paid, and sat down. The bus pulled out of the station. He took me out of his pocket and looked at me covertly, like some kind of spy. Then he picked his head up and stared at the woman sitting opposite him. The woman next to him, most likely his mother, asked him a question, which he didn’t answer. She turned back to him and said it was impolite to stare.
    He whispered something in her ear and showed me to her. She looked at me, looked at the woman opposite them, turned to her, and said something like, “I’m sorry but I think you may have dropped this.…”
    The woman smiled bewilderedly, took me in her hands, arched her eyebrows, and thanked her. The kid started to cry like mad, “It’s mine! It’s mine!” The blushing mother asked him to calm down. The bus came to a stop. The woman got off, looked at me again, this time intently, bent over, opened her bag, and threw me inside. Two days have passed and I’m still in the dark. I hope with all my heart that she’ll be kind to me and, for heaven’s sake, will pull me out of this gloomy place.

6
    Dead Prefer Blondes
    Ben couldn’t decide what shocked him more: the fact that the woman who opened the door wasn’t Marian; the fact that she flashed him the most famous smile in the history of womankind; the fact that she had dyed her hair a charcoal black, taking away her hallmark; or, perhaps, the sudden realization that she wasn’t who she pretended to be. She sighed petulantly and signaled him to wait. Then she took off down the long hall of her apartment, disappeared into a room, rattled and rummaged, finally returned with a Polaroid camera, bent down, pressed her face against his, called out “cheese!” and pushed the button. Embarrassed, Ben looked at the photo she shoved his way. The frozen and forced smile on his face lent him the expression of the ultimate idiot. However, he made up his mind not to call her bluff.
    “Here,” she said, “you can show everyone you had your picture taken with me. What more could you want? Please, sir, please, just take it and leave. Arthur is supposed to be back any minute now.”
    He furrowed his brow, thinking about the prosperous industry of look-alikes in the previous world and wondering whether “Arthur” was “the” Arthur Miller, or, strangely enough, a look-alike of the famous playweight, then handed back the