Hibernation

I wake up. Gray light falls through the curtains into my bedroom. A sleepy tabby is curled up on my legs, no doubt exhausted from a long night of conducting important cat business. I get up, get dressed, fill the food bowls, get coffee. Or maybe tea? It’s all the same, anyway. I turn on my computer. I should get to work…or maybe I should look at the news first. No.

I start typing. Letters, words, sentences…what’s the word I am looking for? Oh right: pages. Inconsequential streams of consciousness. Someone else’s idea of enjoyment. It gets old really fast.

Time doesn’t exist in my office. The curtains keep away the Outside, until the number of completed lines on my screen tell me it’s time for dinner. I go into the other room. It’s dark out, so it must be evening, yes? I cook. We eat in front of the TV while watching some show. It’s all the same, anyway.

Time to sleep.

[163 words]

Hornets’ Nest

Hornets. There are about 15 of them, buzzing fussily in and out of the hole in the wall they have recently chosen as their dwelling. Unfazed by the voices and the life behind the crumbling bricks they simply go about their day. Every day.

I was scared of them, at first. A strange, primal fear of one of them unsuspectingly exploring its environment, getting trapped in my room. What is this place? What are all these smells and things? Who are these furry creatures staring at it with their preying eyes? It buzzes around, disoriented, panicking, lashing out.

Poor thing.

I’d better keep my windows closed.

[111 words]

(c) Anett Enzmann 2019