Bαllerino

~1~

Through the noises of the dusty city, into the busy, dirty and smelly market, onto the road, flying kilometers, then onto the road-side. Into the town and into the quiet atmosphere of our my home, back to our backyard, through the open windows, into the kitchen and... Mom.

She sat on a brown wooden stool that sat directly on the floor. The earthenware bowl was on the floor with a saucepan, both sitting at her right foot while she ground the mixture with her right hand with her left hand neatly placed on a blue colored napkin which covered her laps. Although she wore a simple blue dress, It seemed like it was too good for the kitchen.

An African mother, gently grinding a mixture of cooking vegetables for supper. She puts the napkin on her laps up onto her left shoulder and lifts up the earthenware bowl with both hands.She gently washes off the mixture, and without spilling any, into the saucepan, that which was presently containing cooking oil. She got up from her seat lazily, dumped the saucepan onto the stove quietly, and kindled it gracefully.

She dropped her hands to her sides, and took a deep breath and while looking up at the ceiling, put both hands on her hips. She run her right hand across her face scratching her left eyebrow. She put her hand back on her hip and took another deep breath. She rested her body back on the stool and for a moment she got up and lifted the stool to the wall, put right where its edge wouldn't touch the wall, planted her body onto it and rested her back against the wall and closed her eyes, taking another deep breath. Waiting, to add another ingredient.

...

Through the open door into the hall and through the yellow and brown door, into my room. Pretty messy, right? Yeah... Slowly to half-opened wardrobe; which a mixture of worn and unworn clothes leaked from; and to the open drawers that socks and shoes lases hanged from; and my bed; messy, as usual; with my school uniforms increasing beautification. Meanwhile shoes lied on the floor at the bottom of the bed, then, a boy, me.

In a white singlet and a black boxer shorts vertically striped with red and grey, I lied on my bed, upside down. My feet were engaging with the pillows and my head hanged at the end of the bed. My left and right index fingers drew circles in my sight, not allowing me to see the television.

After a moment, I dropped my arms to my sides on the bed and looked up at the corners of the ceiling; made attractive by cobwebs. Then to the center of the ceiling where I saw the dusty old fan. I averted my eyes and grabbed the TV remote with my right hand and flipped my body to the left and noisily lied on my front; the noise, coming from the bed. I let the mattress swallow up my face, entirely.

With the remote control in my left hand, I stretched and pointed my arm to the silent TV which stood directly in front of me, at the wall, off, with the door leading to the hall on the left. As I press a button, I couldn't breathe. I flipped my body to the right and lied on my back once again, but this time, placing my head on the bed.

A flush of light fell into my eyes, and on looking at it's source, I noticed the curtains were up and the shutters, we're open. I craned my body up onto my knees tremendously, stretched my body to its fullest length, and arms up to the window shutters, shutting them closed. I drew down the curtains with both hands after.

I, on falling back on the bed, like a stick, accidentally got my toes clogged by my uniform.