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.
the art is inside
