It’s four and half years now I find myself watching the slow and steady decline of my mother. My days are structured by her ingestion and digestion, and the proper preparation of her medication. In between I find some time to work, to read books to enter a universe not ruled by approaching death. Which according to Camus is not feasible as we are all condemned to death. Sure, he’s right and what I’m doing makes no sense at all, still I’m doing it – la femme révoltée.
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Noise Again but Louder
Once again I am. Sitting in the Clubhouse, and once again I am being deafened by noise. This time by pop music, some of which is my favourites fro the 70s and 80s. Did we play this music so loud then? When did legislation about decibel levels come in? So now I can here you asking why I should subject myself to this. Well the answer is simple really; this is the only place where I cN get reliable wi-fi when I am away from home. I can’t always rely on mobile data either. So I come to the clubhouse in 30 or 45 minute bursts. Otherwise I cannot check emails or websites or even ebay. But most importantly I can’t upload to five stray minutes!.. Now to upload and then my suffering will be done for the day!
Closure
In front of the house there had been a dead tree. Its bark had long scaled off, leaving it white and bare and raw. A rosebush had fancied it the spot to make its new home and entwined itself around its tall stature—spawning myriads of bright pink blossoms every year, imbuing the air around the house with the scent of summer. There were so many of them that every visitor would get a bouquet of roses, should they want one, and sometimes I would feed one or two flowers to the iguana.
…
I turn around the corner and reluctantly step onto the street. I used to live here. This is weird. Nothing has changed. The narrow street is lined with the same neatly cut hedges, behind which the deceivingly friendly dwellers of this village lurk. It’s quiet, eerie, just like it had always been, back then. I keep walking towards the house, each step slower than the one before—
…and there it is. A low, wooden fence, and behind it the cowering, red brick stone structure, a lonely, garishly green watering can, and a bench that wasn’t there before. The dead tree must have had to yield to a neatly mowed lawn, and the scent of summer has long since faded away.
[214 words]
(c) 2019 Anett Enzmann
Are we somewhere pressing our own buttons?
What if life was just a hologram, and we all created our own reality? A sort of Minecraft where you could recreate the real world, exploring it it all the while for entertainment and educational satisfaction, or even to score points. A game where we choose our friends and partners like chess pieces; a rook to teach us complex moves; a pawn to do our bidding? Maybe we are somewhere else, pressing our own buttons.
My littlest niece once asked me to play Minecraft with her. We built dens and fires from pixels all morning, sitting on the sofa. When I told her I used to do that at her age in real life, in the woods, she didn’t believe me.
She asked, “Real woods?”
“How do you know the difference between the real woods and the Minecraft woods?” I asked her.
She said, “I don’t know.”
Sometimes, nor do I.
The Trap (Part 4)
Now that he was hooked, she had to proceed carefully.
“There is one catch though”, she continued, “you have to follow a dress code. Jeans and t-shirt won’t do.”
He examined her face, looking for clues if this was true.
“Come on, it’s a fetish club! We go to your place and I wait outside while you change quickly.”
“No, you come with me while I change.”
“Hell, no! I wait outside.”
Would he buy it?
When they reached his apartment, he went inside, turning around a few times to see whether she was still there, then disappeared.
She counted to ten. Then fifteen. Then turned around and ran. Didn’t stop for half an hour, running and turning corners, not looking behind her, now feeling the panic and anger that she had successfully suppressed all evening. It was over.
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
139 words, writing: 10 minutes, editing: 2 minutes
David
I woke somewhy, rose, drank water, saw the time – 4:30 am – and let a dog out. Checked messages as I often do. His post surprised me. Somehow he found the strength… but no. Written by family, a notice of passing. How to grieve my most formative friend from earliest school days? I don’t know, I thought, as the silent, uninstructive wet ran on my cheeks.
The Trap (Part 3)
She would take him to this kinky techno club. Because – as “laissez-faire” as it might appear to outsiders – this was actually one of the few places where she knew she would find help.
“I think you like a thrill”, she began, “and I know just the place. There is this kinky club, you know it? I can get you in. They don’t accept single men, but if you want, I’m your ticket for tonight.”
He was immediately hooked.
(to be continued)
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
Writing: 5:30 minutes, editing: 5 minutes
The Trap (Part 2)
“You know”, he said, while also slowly sitting down, “today is my birthday….”
“Oh, how wonderful! Let’s celebrate that. We go somewhere for a glass of champagne.”
“But… we just got here. I want to celebrate here with you.”
“No”, she insisted, “first we must go out. I want to drink with you, somewhere in a bar. We come back here afterwards, I promise! Just half an hour. Come on, don’t be cheap.” She tried her best smile.
A short silence, then he took a breath and agreed. But nothing was over yet. Sitting at the bar, he looked at her: “Congratulations, you managed to get out of my apartment. But what now, little flower?”
She looked around. People were chatting, drinking, and laughing together. Would anybody believe her, if she asked for help?
That’s when genius stroke her. She knew where to take him to find safety.
(To be continued)
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
words: 154, writing and editing intermingled: 15 minutes
Appearances can be Deceptive
Appearances can be so deceptive, One of the books I am currently reading features a pretty young lady who everyone loves, but she has to be careful with everything because she has superhuman strength and crush a person’s hand just by shaking it, or shatter a wine glass while relaxing with friends. This book reminds me of an incident while I was working in a shop some years ago. A very scruffy and smelly bearded gent came in, wearing badly fitting filthy clothes. luckily he walked right past my section. He asked for help at another counter bought what he wanted, and left. Afterwards I was told that when he came in again, I was to find whatever he wanted because he was the richest person in the area, owned a lot of property, and was more or less a hermit, only venturing from the hovel that he lived in when he absolutely had to. Since then I look at tramps and wonder.
More recently I saw a shop called Teknicolor. Very smart black and gold fascia with the name in a modern font. In the window were three colour plates of full length fashion models. I thought that this was a photographic studio, or at least an expensive camera shop. But no! It was a unisex hairdresser / barber shop. Appearances really can be deceptive.
The Trap (1)
She knew she had made a mistake as soon as she entered the apartment and he locked the door behind her with a key. This was not a normal visit of an apartment available for rent. Staring at the key in the door lock, her mind was spinning. I need to get out of this apartment, was all she could think. “Sit down”, the guy said with a smile on his face. She sat on the big bed that was dominating the room. The bedspread had a leopard skin pattern. I have to stay calm. Not show my panic. Think.
(To be continued)
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
101 words, writing: 3.5 minutes, editing: 8 minutes
five stray minutes 