Ciotka


Doskonale ją pamiętam; była wysoka i szczupła. Pachniała bielizną suszoną na dworze w wietrzny, deszczowy dzień. I samotnością. Tym wszystkim, co natychmiast kojarzyło się z jesiennymi wieczorami, chłodem i zdziczałym, wygłodniałym kotem włóczącym się w ciemności wśród krzaków, tracących ostanie liście. Myślę, że wydzielała bardzo intensywną woń smutku i rezygnacji, chociaż czasami, kiedy wkładała perły, przypinała do płaszcza wyleniały kołnierz z lisa i naciągała rękawiczki, zetlały zapach Chanel nr 5 unosił się nad nią jak czerwony sztandar buntowników.


Pamiętam też jej psa, wiekowego charta rosyjskiego imieniem Dymitr. Dymitr śmierdział starym psem.


Był też dom, który kiedyś pachniał jabłkami i cynamonem, a teraz zalatywał kurzem, myszami i naftaliną.

Komentarze

Prześlij komentarz

Popularne posty z tego bloga

The Witch, The Monster, and the Warrior

The Monster awoke in his lair. He smelled something, or rather he sensed something which could be both smell and a flash of light, penetrating through his closed eyelids. The Witch was lonely, and miserable, and cried into the mesh of Realities for help. She had a pure heart, a brave soul and a clear mind. People like her shone brightly in between the worlds; they were like beacons attracting all kinds of spirits. ‘I want to devour this pure heart, and feast on that brave soul, and pollute this clear mind’, thought the Monster. So he disguised himself as a good and sympathetic man, and approached her. It was easy for him to pretend he was everything she cried into the mesh of Realities for. Before long she trusted him. He made his feast long and enjoyable. She gave him her heart freely, along with her body, and he smiled and licked his fingers when he finished. Then he asked for more, and took to infusing her mind with his poison. But it was the soul he was the most interes...
Czytaj więcej

The Myth

after Muriel Rukeyser So when the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse came they were met by women.  Tall women. Short women. Fierce women. Timid women. Women who supported other women, who laughed, cried and sang together. - Let us through - said the Horsemen. - After our dead bodies - answered the women. The Horsemen furrowed their brows. There was a slight buzz around them, like from a beehive. - You know, it can be done - they answered. The women closed their eyes and shook their heads with disdain. - You tried so many times, you could at last learned the fucking lesson - they answered. - We are indestructible, when we are together.
Czytaj więcej

Too much Sandman tampers with your head

' But how can it be' said the young man, looking nervously around. 'That there is only one writer in the whole world who seems to possess all the good ideas? And, you know, it's like that, sometimes, you dream about something really hard, you hone this idea to perfection, and just when you are about to put the pen to paper, you accidentally stumble upon your creation in his book. Or graphic novel. It is yours, you know it is, you have never told anyone about it and you are pretty damn sure you haven't read it nowhere, but here it is. In his work!. How can it even be possible?' His companion put a small piece of fish on her fork and lifted it to her mouth. She bit a morsel, chewed on it, and then shrugged. 'Oh, I thought you had it figured out for quite a time now, hon', she said. 'It's so simple. He really is Morpheus. So he knows all dreams of the humankind, even before they swim to the surface of counsciousness. He has this big web, like a giga...
Czytaj więcej