Drama Mystery Romance

- It was one of those nights. You know, when you are not sure where blinking has taken you… like time after time? For a fragment of time after my eyes opened, (at such an hour there exists no time-count) I felt reluctant to look over the place around me.

You stare at me baffled but you are still patient. My vision is blurry but I can distinguish your great red eyes that almost scare me. This is the investigatory glance of our mother. I decide to keep telling you whatever I remember. Short breath.

- I woke up thirsty; it happens sometimes because I always forget to have the required amount of water intake.

I giggle at this point; I find this kind of vocabulary funny in casual conversation. I can tell that you can’t appreciate the joke that arises from the stylistic inconsistency. I hear my giggling ending up with an awkward kind of cough. 

-So, as you can imagine, I couldn’t see much; it was completely dark. I turned my body to the left and touched my legs on the carpet by the bed. He was sleeping next to me at the time. To be honest I didn’t see him. In fact I couldn’t know; but I assumed he was there. Yes, let’s put it this way. In such darkness I could know nothing at all. I could be anywhere; but it is a matter of habit, you see. I assumed I was at home and acted consequently. I stood up, and walked towards the kitchen. I have the impression that he asked me what the time was and then I noticed the river sounding louder than usual. I stopped and looked out the window. All I could hear was the loud ripple of water. It got louder and louder, overwhelmingly louder. The river broke the window, the river entered the room.

I am sure you are upset. Lost your nerve. You are trying to speak as you are also moving your hand awkwardly, in an attempt to calm yourself down. You touch your glasses, supposedly to place them where they should be and then your eyelids flicker.

-Could you please skip all these and tell me what happened? 


- All I could hear was the loud ripple of water. Flowing over the carpet filling up the room until it broke into my mouth and nose and lungs and choked me. I was trying to breathe but I couldn’t and I wanted to scream; I did. But only I could hear the cry. 

And then, and then...and then blink. In the bed, thirsty, only assume. He hugged me, I think, and asked if I was alright.

-So was he still there? That is something we can make a start with at least.

- I have explained. I can’t know but I suppose he was still there, yes. It was completely dark. I wanted to fall asleep again. I couldn't dare attempt a second trip to the kitchen. I ‘d sleep thirsty, I thought. If I only could forget the sensation of the river filling my lungs. Just a bad dream. I hugged him from behind. He was well asleep and I was creepily sniffing off his neck. As soon as my hand ran the full line of his back under his arm, it came back again. That wild urge to draw him. Imagine that.. You know how I can’t even hold a pencil, right? I never could. But I tried once..when I was a kid I wanted to draw a picture of mum. I used a photo I found somewhere at home. She had her hair tied on a high bun; just like mine, bigger curls. Dad probably took that picture, she looked happy. Anyway, I tried to draw her. My failed attempt should still be in some drawer, at home. But I gave up… her glance was too heavy for me to keep sketching under it. It was the very first time after that one; I genuinely wanted to draw him. Many times I visualised how I should just use a pencil to drag the lines of his body and his features on a piece of paper. How I should fill the shadows between his eyes and his nose, the shadows that would define his body, the details that would tell that it is him that I was thinking of when I grabbed that pencil. I was convinced that my fingers could replicate the lines they 've been thoroughly examining in the dark.. but then, no, I thought, touch is a deceitful sense, my finger follows the line of his lips and then it is convinced it can replicate it on a piece of paper. Touch tricks me into thinking of sketching as a simple thing. How could this be true? Recreating, re-interpreting, re-imagining someone as a painting. I don’t want to distort the features of his face and then call that creation by his name. That is already a nightmare. Then his voice interrupted my thoughts: "when you blink you won’t hear my voice again", he said. Only that he said and I tried not to blink for as long as I could. I managed for a while but it was inevitable. When I blinked again I saw him standing in front of me and it wasn’t dark. He wasn’t talking or anything and I am not sure whether he had noticed me. I only wanted to touch him, I walked towards him and it all looked like a game. Getting closer I noticed muffled colours on his face. I touched his arm but it disappeared. Whatever part I touched, it disappeared. I needed to actually touch him; to press my hand against his chest, to hug him, to slap him, to feel his warmth. I placed my hand on his chest and then I pressed in. I pushed it in and watched it sinking within. When I pulled my hand out it was painted with the colours of his inside; blue for some reason. Just to make it even clearer that it couldn’t be true. Can a dream stink so much of paint?

 -This is no game, I don’t know what you are trying to get or say with all that.

- "Just keep your eyes open" he said. Keep my eyes open to watch him disappearing, he said. I wouldn't just sit down and watch that. There is no game, you say. There is no such thing as anything; what do I expect to get out of this? What do I expect to get out of anything? Are my eyes open right now?

-What happened next?

-Next... Oh God, I have no more strength to keep going. I am trying to remember what happened next but I keep going round in circles of disordered memories. The room was dark. I could hear his breathing. I was lying sideways. I noticed some movement in the dark. I could only see a head; without a body. Great red wet eyes, curls on a high bun.

She is furious now, I reckon she thinks I am avoiding to tell her what happened but I am trying my best. I cannot remember facts, only feelings, only thoughts scattered through the night.

-I remember how much I cared about him. I wanted his smell to swallow the room. To kiss him but not just kiss him. To own him, I wanted to be hidden within him.

She is trying to contain herself but she is desperate, something horrible should have happened. She sits on the edge of the bed and cries silently. I am sitting next to her, to soothe her, I think.. and I am telling a story. 

-You know he had a little tortoise, he said. One that he found out in the wild. A helpless little tortoise that he almost killed because he mistook for a turtle. He set up a pool of water and pushed it in violently, only cause he loved her...

-What ?

-I was thinking , maybe he found it in a dream. So he took it, so he.. he fed it; you know? Got emotional about his little tortoise. He gave her a name. And then he blinked and then he closed his eyes; next thing he remembers, he saw it on fire. His little, named tortoise. I won't be lost in flames. No, I thought. I am staying. I had this peculiar idea that when I blink all will be lost. He said that. He was going to leave me in the morning. So I wouldn't blink at all like for an hour until my eyes were bleeding. Right on that strange hour he woke up and switched on the light and saw my eyes and freaked out; but I wouldn't let go. He asked a few times what was going on but I couldn't speak. I kept thinking about trapping his voice in a box. About tying his arms around me.


 -And then I heard a knock on the door, and, do you remember? you said: "hey open the door, it’s me". And I thought, a very familiar voice, that is. And then I looked around to find out what was happening. I looked at the closed wardrobes and the door. I thought I heard his breathing but then I realised someone was knocking on the door.  For a bit I stayed in bed debating whether the knock was real, whether you were real, whether I will have to blink again. I cant actually remember opening the door for you. The next thing I recall is you asking me what's going on. And then me telling you how I had been kind of lost between thoughts and dreams saying how I assumed he was sleeping next to me how I wanted to draw him how I felt that him and I both were kind of violent in the way we loved each other; but only because we wanted to know everything about each other. I had even let him read my writing. As if I gave him guns and bullets to kill me, and yet he didn’t. It was as if he were just being kind to take from me the joy of feeling brave to have exposed myself. He didn’t laugh at me. He didn’t make me feel “incompetent” and “overambitious” as some of my teachers said; and although I knew they were right it was beautiful to have someone who didn’t share their opinion. I didn’t want to exclude him from anything that was mine.  Not only to share everything with him, I wanted, but I wanted to be his. His doll, his toy. I didn't want anything to be more important than me, especially that burning turtle. I wanted to cook for him. I was getting so upset every time he misunderstood me. I came to be convinced that I had revealed such a vulnerable self and because of that he had some kind of (almost moral) obligation to understand everything about me. But see, he didn't... He left. Not here, not around. Not in sight. He had left me. Can you imagine that?

After articulating these last words I feel like I am going to faint. I stare at the wardrobe and remember how he put me in that furious state; I didn't want to hear him doubt me again. Didn't want to have another argument, didn't want to fear he 'd disappear. I so much preferred seeing him sleeping. Serene. Handsome, imagining of drawing his pretty arms. I woke up in tears telling him about the ghosts I had been seeing. The ghost that had her hair on a high ban. He didnt believe me. He said I am always making up stories, he said I am only trying to get attention. How did I manage to drag him to the wardrobe ? How did I manage lock him there? I don't know... is he still breathing? It is so dark in there I can only assume he is still breathing..

-Oh but I have drifted off my train of thought again, I am sorry, so womanly of me. I will stop wandering around the point I am trying to make.  Now I remember. The last time I saw him. He said he couldn't believe me..

Should I tell her what I did ..? She is already terrified. I finally hear myself saying:

- Can you keep a secret ?

August 14, 2020 21:50

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.


RBE | Illustration — We made a writing app for you | 2023-02

We made a writing app for you

Yes, you! Write. Format. Export for ebook and print. 100% free, always.