I am always on alert. My leg muscles jerk on each sound that is strange and unnatural. I stand up immediately and check all the chambers, then fearfully look at the exterior stairs. I sometimes shudder on sounds that come from my stomach. I sometimes tremble on the mere fluttering of the walnut tree leaves in the yard. I have an impeccable sense of sound; I sense the softest movements of the interior, the most flannel steps in the yard. The soft walking on clouds at night. Sometimes, I can even hear the vehicles that are on kilometers away. While I sleep, my ears stay awake. While I rest, my ears don’t. They perceive each voice; they speed up the heartbeats. This seems like an echo of the danger, because the ears and the heart have learnt how to join in the foreboding.
I am not afraid of earthquakes. I want to be ready when the windows in the next chamber will start to tremble, and I will start to lose my breath.
Today my ears warned me. A harsh shaking of the windows woke me up. My muscles jerk because the sound is strange and unnatural. I instantly stand up and check all the chambers, then fearfully look at the exterior stairs. No meat is vibrating, no goggling eyes, no slobber, and neither a urine. The walls are vibrating and the floor is going upside down.
Few minutes after, my mother appears from the rug pattern and whispers few words in an unknown language.

2018-08-21T17:22:52+00:00 March 1st, 2011|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 76|0 Comments