This is my life

This is my life

Odsłon 28
Głosy 1
Części 1

W trakcie<5 min

Ostatnia publikacja sob., sty 3, 2015

Fikcja

Romans

Dear diary, You don't normally find out that the fish and chip shop down the road sells fish from the river Thames. I didn't know that there were any fish alive in there. But today was surprising for another reason. I was walking to the library to get out some books as usual when I noticed it was closed. I eyed the librarian walking into Clothes R Us shop and remembered that she always shopped at the tailor's instead of there and so I knew that something was wrong. I followed her looking casual so no-one would know I was spying on somebody. I entered the store but I couldn't see her anywhere so wandered around keeping my eye out then I remembered the only other place I hadn't looked was the changing rooms. I walked over there and peeked through a crack in the door. I didn't see the librarian, but someone else. I was about to quickly avert my eyes, except that I was shocked by what I saw. I couldn't tell whether it was a boy or girl so I am gonna stick with boy for two reasons. The first is I don't like spying on girls getting changed because I end up seeing stuff I probably shouldn't see. The second was that he had short hair which most boys my age seem to have. He slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out a wad of wallets. My mouth dropped open. He was a pick-pocket! I grabbed my backpack off my shoulders and checked if my wallet was safe. Sure enough it was. I ducked out of earshot, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and starting dialing the police when I notice the guy slip out of the changing room.

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Echo of the Past

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.

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