Aloof Souls

CHAPTER ONE

The sound of floorboards creaking at a neighbouring distance broke my sleep that Sunday morning. A thin scent of mothballs wafted through the room, causing a sprinkle of ceiling dust to trickle downwards, tickling my unkempt facial hairs. This prompted my ascent through the bedsheets as I glanced towards the alarm clock. 04:15. The powerful green luminescent LED stunned my half-awoken eyes as I noticed the absence of sunlight which tends to creep into my secure abode from the east-side windows. This dazed me for a brief moment as I whirled my eyes in circular motions. It had been such a long time since I'd seen such a small hourly digit on my clock that I was beginning to think that the early hours of morning never actually existed. A void where your physical and metaphysical self is teleported across to the other side, tomorrow.

The creaking recommenced except this time the echoes morphed into distinct hollow thuds, which I immediately recognised to be produced by the small hand-crafted mahogany door I diligently completed over last winter. It had been one of my life's greatest achievements, not only due to its beautiful and elegant design but its practicality of being used every day. The engraved circular carvings around the corners with bold parallel bezels embellished from top to bottom came to me as inspiration from the works of the Ancient Greeks. The colosseum pillars, a symbol of power and strength, had held together such inhumane wrath and glory, yet still stands to see the light of today. I wonder if the pillars ever looked back at the recollection of countless lives sacrificed within the bounds of its jurisdiction. Probably not, otherwise the pillars would have crumbled a long time ago. Without hesitation, the pillars move forward in time, as will the door at my house, long after I disappear into the wind. I didn't intend this to foreshadow my unjustly death but served as a reminder that man-made structures far outlive man. A reminder how much more fragile we are, and how much more care is required. In contrast to our creations, the difference becomes stark. Regardless, seeing my creation every day on my return to this quiet and honest abode was one of my life's small pleasures. It was also a great incentive for me to leave the confines of my cottage. A daring task.

Someone was knocking on my door. The loud thuds didn't come through as aggressive but hinted a sense of urgency. I could imagine that anyone with business this early in the morning wasn't looking to linger around for the sun to rise. I did the maths in my head but couldn't quite parse the situation of who it might have been and for what reason they were at my door, however in the moment it didn't strike me as unusual or the slightest bit surprising. Instead in my old worn-out mind, it manifested as a sensation of being unable to solve the last question of a high school exam. I blamed it on my age, and possibly my half-conscious brain which only a minute ago was being teleported through a void.

It turned out to just be a delivery boy who had a parcel for me. He seemed to be in his late teens of a slim build, wearing shorts, a bleak worn-out polo top and a blue sailor's cabbie hat. He was Caucasian of race with a distinct spread of freckles across his cheeks, crystal clear blue eyes which seemed to compliment his hat, and over-sized round glasses that hovered above his nose bridge every time he sniffled. It wasn't extremely cold, but the early morning winds of Sweden in spring can creep up on you and sweep you into Narnia if you weren't careful. This was a concern as I wasn't properly dressed, immediately answering the door after leaving the bed. Thankfully, my night gown wasn't one to offend, a long navy-blue silk dressing with white stripes running vertically giving the appearance I was slightly taller than I actually was. It was woven from premium satin silk making it perfectly comfortable to wear around the house, but not for standing at the door at way-too-early o'clock.

The delivery boy retrieved a small parcel from a satchel swung across his shoulder which seemed to unbalance his stance. There must have been a lot of densely stuffed parcels inside. He read the label carefully and returned it to the satchel before fumbling around inside to retrieve a differently shaped parcel with an envelope attached to it. He read the label again and gave himself a little confirmatory nod.