A blue suitcase

A blue middle-sized suitcase, placed on the sofa and waiting to be filled, is a constant reminder that he is leaving soon. Things, mostly clothes, are piling up around it, waiting to be folded in. He will probably start putting things in sometime soon and I’ll watch quietly, trying hard not to tell him how to do it. In the end he’ll figure out that I’m better at this than he is and I’ll throw everything out and carefully place everything back, just the way it was supposed to be, because I know how to do it properly.

The hour when the phone will ring and his brother will tell him that he’s on his way here to pick him up is closer and closer. I’m not happy about it even though I know that he’s excited. It’s not that I don’t want him to go, or that I’m not happy for him. It’s just… I’m already missing him. Knowing that the blue suitcase will soon be gone… knowing that the apartment will soon be quiet and empty… knowing that in the evening I’ll go to bed alone and that no one will be hugging me in the morning… knowing all this is killing me.

I try not to look at the suitcase and I try hard not to think of the moment when I’ll be left alone. I want to take advantage of every moment spent with him, remember every word and smile. But no matter how hard I try I can’t change the fact that I’m already thinking of the moment when he’ll come back and we’ll empty the blue suitcase together and put it away until one of us, or, preferably, both, leaves again.

Blood

This story is not appropriate for children and sensitive people.

The light in the bathroom was dim, only two candles placed on the shelf lighting it. Their flames were dancing to their own music in their own world; the world that we can’t hear or see but it must be magical.

There was a sound of music coming for another room, slow jazz. Perhaps the flames could hear it too and they danced to the sound of saxophone, trumpet and piano.

There were no other sounds in the apartment and no other light.

A woman with pale skin was lying in a bath full of water. Her look was focused, not on the white wall in front of her, it seemed as she could see beyond it and at the same time it seemed she couldn’t see anything at all. As she slowly raised her right hand something small and silver glistened in the flare of candles. She kept glaring in front of her and raised the other hand. She cut her wrist with one swift and determined move and only then her eyes moved. She looked how the water slowly turned red as the blood ran out of her artery and put the hand back down. Then she made another deep cut, and another, only this time she cut both her thighs.

She kept cutting her arm, legs and belly until she couldn’t lift her hand anymore. For a little while longer she stared at the water, red and cold, and then she closed her eyes.

Last week I wanted to donate my blood for the first time, but I found out that I couldn’t be a blood donor due to my chronic illness. I’ve always admired my mom for being a donor and I’ve always wanted to be one myself, but sadly I’m not going to be. The story was inspired by this experience, perhaps in a strange and morbid way but I do hope that it will encourage someone out there to save a life or two. My intention is not to offend or hurt anyone and I apologise if I did.

100 words: Restlessness

I lay in bed, wide-awake. I think about everything and nothing, knowing that pondering upon the same things over and over again won’t solve anything; knowing that wondering about the same questions won’t give me any answers.

I’ve tried doing everything I could remember to beat insomnia; I’ve spent hours trying to remember what my grandma did when I couldn’t fall asleep as a child. I did remember all her secret recipes but none have worked.

Even listening to his slow breathing doesn’t calm me down. Restlessness is boiling inside me and I can’t find a way to appease it.

Footprints

I’m standing in the middle of the street, perfectly still. My face is turned towards the dark sky. My eyes are closed and little white flakes are gently landing on my skin, instantly turning into tiny water drops. My mind goes blank for a few short moments. I’m not thinking anything, I’m just enjoying this perfect moment.

Then I slowly open my eyes and try to soak in the beauty of this perfect night. Everyone and everything is asleep, I’m the only living soul on the street. The world is sleeping and I can’t hear a thing which makes me feel powerful and weak at the same time.

I turn back and watch the fresh footprints in the snow. Snowflakes are slowly filling the marks my shoes made and I’m thinking if the same happens with our deeds. Do deeds of other people eventually cover our deeds until they have completely erased any sing of our acts and existence?

I continue my way towards our house, knowing that in the morning my footprints will be gone and hope that my deeds and my existence won’t go unnoticed.

100 words: Blank

I make myself a proper cup of tea and sit down at my desk, the blank Word document already open. I’m slowly sipping my tea and thinking; nothing funny or smart comes to my mind so the document remains blank. I open a new blank document in Pages, hoping that changing my writing tools will make a difference; it doesn’t. I finish my tea and go to bed, hoping that a relaxing atmosphere will make my mind burst with inspiration; it doesn’t. The documents stay blank and soon I give up, close them both and start watching a dull film.

The surgery

I’m sitting in the waiting room and suddenly the big door on my right opens. Everyone in the room looks up, hoping that their name will be called, except for me. I’m signing the agreement, amused by the demand that my nail polish must be removed prior to the surgery.

Surprisingly, a voice calls my name and I get up, looking at the bright red polish on my nails. People look at me with mixed feelings on their faces; some are sympathetic and other are angry because I’ve just came to the waiting room and I’m already being admitted.

I walk into a room where a young woman cries and moans uncontrolably, obviously still affected by anaesthesia. Two nurses are standing at her bedside and are desperately trying to calm her down, unsuccessfully.

“It’s not that bad“ one of the nurses says and looks at me reassuringly. I nod and swallow a mouthful of saliva, probably looking scared like a little girl even though this is not my first surgery under general anaesthesia.

In the next fifteen minutes or so a bunch of people come and ask me a lot of questions. Will this be your first surgery? How much does it hurt on a scale from one to ten? When have you last eaten? Do you smoke? I patiently answer all their questions and after a short consultation they decide that it really is necessary for me to be under general anaesthesia; the removal of the infected wart on my heel would be too painful if they’d use only local anaesthetics.

The last thing I remember is me lying on the bed in the big white room, with an oxygen mask on my mouth.

“You’re not holding the mask properly“ I say, being the control freak that I am.

“Don’t worry, everything is just fine. You’ll fall asleep now“ the anaesthetist says and a cold liquid sprinkles my feet.

“Hey, don’t start just yet, I’m still awake…“

A pecking pain in my heel wakes me up and I realise I’m lying on the same bed where I answered all those questions. The surgery is already over, judging by the bandaged leg. And the pain.

“How do you feel sweetie?“ a nurse asks.

“I’m great but it hurts quite badly.“

“We can give you more painkillers but in that case you’ll have to stay here for at least two more hours.“

“When can I leave otherwise?“

”In about half an hour if everything’s ok.“

”No painkillers then, I want to go home as soon as possible.“

100 words: A little boy

Although the clocks moved back we slept in yesterday. I’ve been told that there will be snow this weekend but nonetheless the big white flakes falling from the sky took me by surprise when I passed the kitchen window, still half asleep.

“It’s snowing hun“ I said and he literally jumped out of the bed, with sparkles in his eyes; he transformed into a little boy for a short moment.

I caught him staring through the window several times during the day and each time I saw that little boy in him, happy and enthusiastic as only children can be.

Snapshots: The theatre

Standing in our bathroom, I take one last glance at myself in the mirror and nod in approval. We’re going to the theatre and I walk the fine line with my outfit and makeup, I don’t want to over do it, but I still want to look appropriate.

“How do I look?“

“You look perfect, as always“ he answers and kisses me on my cheek. That doesn’t help much but I secretly smile, satisfied.

***

We're waiting at the bus stop, talking about the performance we just saw in the theatre and at the same time, we both notice a young man in his late teens, with a bottle of vodka in the back pocket of his pants.

“He’s probably a freshman, stocking up for a wild party“ I say, thinking of my first year at the university and smiling.

***

The bus arrives and as we're walking towards it I notice a girl I vaguely know. She is a friend of a friend and we aren’t in good relations since our friends birthday. She enters the same bus as we do and we successfully ignore each other. I’d say hello if there would be any eye contact but I prefer to go my way without interacting with her.

***

Just as we're settling down in our seats a young boy sits in front of us and draws a bunch of papers filled with some sort of equations out of his bag. We both lean forward, curious what they might be but I quickly give up, knowing that equations never were my strong point.

***

I lay in bed, hugging him tightly, deeply inhaling his perfume. My body relaxes as his scent fills my nostrils and I close my eyes, feeling safe and happy.

100 words: To the left

I sit at my table and look to the left where a kitchen sink full of dishes is waiting for me. I wish the kitchen wasn’t visible from my spot.

Then, once again, I look to my left, where on the table next to my computer two thick books are waiting for me to read them.

Lastly I look at the computer screen, where a blank white page is waiting for me to put words for my new blog post on it.

I decide to execute today's tasks in reverse order, starting with the pleasant ones and slowly start typing.

Patience

I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room, rolling my eyes as the noise from the other room is getting louder and louder. I try hard to concentrate on the documentary I’m watching with my mom but loud high-pitched voices coming from my sisters' room are making it quite impossible.

I look at my mom on my right, poker faced, and admire her patience. My not-so-little-anymore sisters are now screaming and she just watches the telly. I’m wondering if she learned to ignore their endless fights or if she is just trying very hard not to loose it.

Just as I am about to get up, go to their room and try to talk some sense in to them the sound from their room disappears. I hear a sigh of relief from my mom, indicating that she’s not immune to the chaos after all.