The End Of May

(2) River

I closed the wooden interior door behind me, leaning against the wall next to it. Memories flashed in front of my eyes, pictures in the highest quality possible for human eyesight impairing the reality. The calendar next to my head crashed to the ground; I tried pinning it back on the plain wall. It did not work; I could not see much.

Nothing but a big crinkly smile, warm eyes and eyebrows I distinctly remember Peter Pan having. Tan skin, dark hair with strands of grey, soft and well smelling hands.

All I could think of was how similar they were in some ways; how they acted. Was it possible to inherit parts of someone's character without ever having met them? I had to do a thorough research to broaden my knowledge on DNA.

I could make out voices downstairs, people talking. My hands were trembling unquestionably. Why was I reacting this way?

Ludicrous emotions, go away.

I walked over to my bed, sitting down carefully. I took hold of the cold bed-frame, arms shaking from the force I was gripping the lacquered wood. Otherwise I sat completely still, my back ramrod straight, staring into the mirror hanging opposite myself.

The room I was so seldom in held nothing but fake memories. Reminding me of a time I acted like an average human being. Disgusting.

In the bottom right corner of the mirror was a picture stuck between the reflecting glass and its frame. Put there from somebody playing a role that did not fit them.

The photo showed a man clad in a light pink shirt, hands clasped together on the table in front of him. He was smiling, born for being photographed. I had to close my eyes for a reason I had no desire in leading my mind to. Again.

Forcing my eyes to open again, the names of the muscles I was using for that action listing in front of my eyes. I shook my head, trying to get back into my normal head space. Logic only allowed.

In my peripheral vision I saw a spot of off-white and orange, mixed with a black which looked more brown than charcoal from age. Anger clouded my vision this time, other things pushed behind an enormous brick wall in my mind. How dare she?!

Percy (I was certain) had taken my stuffed animal today and did not put it back in its correct place. I crawled over the duvet to take it and place it to its rightful spot: on top of my pillow.

I detested it when people touched my belongings. I had to teach her a lesson, but first I had to put this Harry person in their place.

Hesitating in letting the thing, which I only valued because it was my property, go I had the sudden urge to pull it closer and wrap my hands around myself; pressing the cotton and polyester animal in the progress against my chest.

But before I could succumb to such an unreasonable action the bedroom door flew open, clashing against the wall. The calendar, which was on the ground since my failed attempt in picking it back up, now crumpled between the light brown wood of the door and the floor strip, made from the same kind of wood but not the same tree.

In the process of putting the stuffed animal back, I had moved to the left side of the bed. From there a wall blocked my view to the entrance. Half of the currently open door was visible. This room was exactly seventeen point twenty-four square-meters big. I preferred to have the bed in a secure corner. By entering the room, one has to take three and a half (probably slightly smaller than average, if I take my height into the equitation) steps to arrive at the right (from my current position) bedside.

I looked over my right shoulder into the reflection of the TV (standard issue in the 2000th), which was positioned on an Ikea regal ('Lalena') at the foot of the bed. In it I could make out a small figure with dark hair. Percy.