Awakening
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Yuriria Harris
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Awakening
Copyright © 2015 Yuriria Harris All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. First Printing, May 2015 Original title: “El Último Bosque, Despertar”
Translation by: Thomas Callis
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The Last Forest
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Hallucinations? "Yesterday, I was taking a walk on the edge of the reserve..." The wide, astonished eyes of my two listeners are fixed on mine. Their reactions of panic paralyse my tongue turning it into a rigid and heavy mass. I can't lift it to the roof of my mouth. 'The reserve?' I think. I hesitate for some seconds whether it be wise to continue. But my friend's impatience and their open eyelids tell me that changing the topic is now impossible. Cornered by my own recklessness, reddened and fearful I oblige my vocal cords to persist their course. "Yes..." I sigh lowering my head. "I sometimes go to the edge of the reserve to take in fresh air... Always behind the protection barrier, naturally!" I stress the last part, exaggerating and trying to justify myself, not noting that my voice has assumed a defiant tone. Ivan, clearing his throat, lets me know that I should refrain from saying more. But there is nothing I can do. My audience continues waiting, ready to imagine something worse if I do not continue my tale. I rub my hands on my trousers to dry up the sweat. "I know, it's not the most advisable thing to do..." I press on displaying extreme hesitation, it could help me manoeuvre myself out of the problem. "Do you want me to go on telling it?" I ask
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them, wishing to be saved, hoping for a negative response. Their heads, nodding with a mixture of curiosity and enthusiasm, signal that there is no other option. I have to carry on and continue to sink in the quicksands of imprudence where my tongue has once more marooned me. Resigned, I breathe out to compose my decisive sentence. "I had my eyes closed, taken in by the sense of relief and peace, then next to the vegetation a sound that came from the branches made me turn... and..." I take a final breath and without thinking too much, I allow, uncensored, the words to flow out my mouth. "I caught sight of a silhouette moving amongst the leaves as if it were flying, it looked human and was difficult to make out, it was fast, the face was a blur. An abrupt panic took over my body, and I ran for my bicycle. There, I turned back toward where the sounds had started, but there was nothing but a few shaken parakeets squawking in the branches." "Wouldn't you have had sunstroke?" Ivan asks me, his face and tone betraying his curiosity. Angela stands there staring at me, awaiting the solution to the intrigue. "Do you think I hallucinated?" Worried, I look into my friend's black eyes. 6
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"Listen... I don't wanna say it.... but Amber, you.... well, sometimes..." Ivan mumbles without knowing which phrase to use so as not to put his foot in it. "Don't schizophrenics hallucinate?" interrupts a female voice coming from the back of the classroom. The necks of my two friends turn and crack like whips as they jerk their shoulders to their ears. They swivel towards the voice. Tense, without looking I recognise Lucy's malicious tone. Wow, I hadn't seen her! Flustered, I lower my head showing that the attack had hit its target. "She's saying it to annoy you," Ivan whispers. "My cousin once told me something similar," the high voice of Angela comes to my defence parrying the venomous insinuation, as if it were the tip of a fencer's sword glancing the offence away. "There is a myth about flying spirits. A legend from the reserve, which like many others have their origin before the Pandemic. Everyone knows traditions tend to hint at a truth." My friend finishes what she is saying, closing her beautiful black eyes. "In the Pandemic there were all kinds of diseases, and it was possible they also caused hallucinations," replies Lucy in her shrill voice, trying at 7
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all costs to hit the spot with her barbed and poisoned comments. "Let's take advantage of the break?" Ivan proposes. As he pats me on the shoulder with friendly intent and flashes a wink at me through his long eyelashes, I calm down and relax. Amid a heavy silence we turn off our screens, roll them up and put them back in the security boxes. All the while our movements are coordinated and automatic. The lock scans our fingerprints and we walk out of the classroom with a controlled but urgent stride, making it seem as if we were all fine. At the door the three of us go our separate ways without uttering a word. Each has their necessary rituals to perform during the midday break. I cross the patio with its anti-UV roof, where kids from school have their lunch in rowdy groups around the high tables. I head to the cafeteria with my head full of existential questions. Am I crazy? Or schizophrenic? Or perhaps, could I have suffered a heat stroke? I walk through the large glass doors and without realising I come to the vending machine where there's still no queue. I ask for a bowl of vegetable protein puree and a green multivitamin 8
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juice, my favourite. My plate in my hand and my head half stooped I cross the courtyard again, checking my surroundings, trying not to be noticed by the crowds of youngsters. The twostory buildings with their pistachio hue seem to warp and fall on me, despite their lowness. Thankful for not having to go back to my classroom I go to my adored bench, a rustic and quaint concrete block that sits in direct sunlight. In solitude, it awaits the once-daily shadow of my backside so it can take a breather from the abrasive sun for a few minutes. Only Enki and I visit this sad artificial stone, but it is the perfect retreat from the chaos of the colony. I don't dislike people, but when there are so many in a confined space, I end up exhausted. I've always been like that. Since childhood I have looked for calm, out-ofthe-way spots amid the chaos. As a child I spent many an hour playing alone under my bed, trying to build impossible things. Doing so made me feel at ease. Now I like to sit on my swing by myself. I can spend hours next to our small, genetically modified drought-resistant tree. Reading is a daily activity in my life, especially those books in the reusable scrap shop, they speak of how humans lived before the Pandemic. I avoid those that tell of the times during the Pandemic though. They are terrible and apocalyptic; 9
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describing how millions of people died of cancer, hunger and bloody conflicts. Sometimes it was for the sake of food, other times it was to fight for a religion. Oil, essential for agriculture, ran out, and they had not considered other options in time. However incredible and far-fetched that sounds to us now, that is what happened. Whole families died and left their houses empty within a matter of a few years. There appeared several new and rare diseases. They didn't know how to cure them. Sterility became a common condition made ever more destructive as the inhabitants didn't have our modern and effective conception methods. In a short time the world population reduced to ten percent. Now most people live in protected cities. They no longer die before the age of fifty. That gives them the opportunity to have at least one child, unless they are born sterile without reproductive organs. A few conceive by natural methods. Most women have to go through long and strenuous treatments. But compared to the time of the Pandemic we can consider ourselves lucky. With the Terra, it is different. They continue to plant and harvest their food in the soil, 'like primitives' as my mother says. Some may have two or three kids. Of course, they are not protected from tumours and degenerative diseases. According to 10
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the history books, over a hundred years ago the ancestors of the Terra could have between eight and ten children. Some lived a century with no medication and no surgery. Can you imagine? You could do so much! The Terra were ignored by the international community, they were poor and survived from their farming, or whatever crops remained after paying taxes. Enki for example has a sister and a grandfather. No ordinary person within this city now has a grandparent and even fewer have siblings. In wealthy cities, where organ transplants are of high quality and advanced technology is better at protecting from pollution, everything is different. This gelatinous puree decorated with alternating red and white stripes tastes the same as always. How was the food before? What did it taste like? How was it prepared? This is good nourishment, but the flavour never changes. At least it's not synthetic meat. Again! Get these ideas out of your head, Amber! That's why they worry about me so much. Some believe I'm a freak. They say I am too curious, I come up with weird things. Once my mother took me to a psychologist friend of hers, it was devastating. He asked me loads of questions, half of which my mom answered instead of me, complaining about how 11
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strange and problematic I was. Afterwards, the doctor made a diagnosis which said I suffered from a hyperactive brain, and a dose of social maladjustment to boot! He advised me not to be so 'heavy', to become happy and smile a lot. That would help me adapt to society and avoid developing serious problems. He said I needed to make an effort. According to him, my current condition is stable. He stressed how important it was for me to take part in all social activities. I should stop moaning so much because 'to complain' is to give an open invitation to those 'pesky' negative thoughts. Every so often, after much tenacious struggling with myself, I do it. I'm afraid of not functioning like everyone else. So, with all my strength and rigid determination, I drum it into my head to follow all the recommendations. I try to get up in the morning with a smile plastered on my face, inserting positive thoughts such as: what a beautiful horrible corridor, what a tasty disgusting puree. But as soon as I start the monumental exercise of smiling, I feel terrible. Rather than become all optimistic as is expected, I am consumed by an awful desire to breakdown and cry. A deep sadness arises from inside me. One that reveals a reality difficult to stomach. Without a doubt, being as I am, I am not welcome anywhere, not even to myself. So to avoid any crazy, uncontrollable cry12
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ing, I prefer to give up the practice and keep things simple. I switch off my feelings, just like deleting a music file from the computer screen. I figure at least that if I seem normal to my mom, it won't occur to her to send me to the psychiatrist! They scare the hell out of me! Something similar happened to my cousin, Claire. She had the same symptoms of cerebral hyperactivity and social maladjustment. The psychologist could do nothing, and then they took her to a psychiatrist, who prescribed strong medicine. Everyone was pleased with the results, except me. We used to get on well. We were inseparable, like sisters. But since that terrible event she seems to have had her soul turned off. She became normal, but... "You have butterflies of ideas and thoughts fluttering in and out of your head," says a warm voice at my side close to my ear. Back in the present, noticing the intense blue sky over my head, I turn and, against the light, make out the silhouette of my best friend. His black eyes look like a moonless night, the reflections inside shimmer and twinkle like stars. He comes towards me with the grace of a cat in the jungle, of the kind gone extinct many years ago. His clothes move with the weight and bulk of natural fabric. 13
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"Enki! Where did you come from?" My intimate friend walks around the concrete slab and sits next to my right. He supports his long-fingered, elegant hands on his knees. That gesture is just like him, and it fascinates me. "Did they tell you? Yesterday, I dropped by your house to see if you'd arrived, but your mom opened the door, and she was curt. She told me you were busy, then she promised to mention I'd come." "They didn't tell me anything!" Though the news makes me furious, I neutralise my voice. I have to hide the sense of injustice caused by the prejudices of my mother against my best friend. "I'm sure they just forgot. They... always have more important things to do and... many headaches and worries..." I try to justify her 'absent mindedness'. “Are you going to the party tomorrow?� "I'm in two minds about it..." I answer, disoriented and not knowing what I would have to say to distract him and keep him content for a little while longer. "Every time I go to one the next day my nerves are so jangled and worn out, I could sleep four days straight and still be tired. I also get depressed; so many emotions and faces all hiding those same forbidden moods. Sad people 14
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pretending to be happy. Those pretty and well made-up girls. It just makes me feel ugly, ridiculous and more stupid than I already am. I never find I am dressed in the proper way and I sense the judgmental glances of the boys eating away at me. And... lots more besides!" "That happens to me if I don't dance." He winks at me complicitly, my cheeks go warm, that must mean I'm blushing. "That's why I'm always dancing," he continues. "That's when it becomes enjoyable. Why don't you ask Angela for advice about how to dress up? I'd love you to go. Then we can move to the music together," he pleads. "We'll be able to see each other for more than twenty minutes, for once." Dance? The mere thought of it jolts me. Goodness me, how can I tell him that dancing is an awful idea? Everyone checking to see if you know the latest steps! That is the worst kind of torture. "Dance?" my voice falters, baring my concerns. He looks into my eyes penetrating the depths of my being, trying to find the key to convince me. Whilst he focuses on winning me over, my skin is electrified as if his stare were a powerful electron emitter. I remain in silence for a few seconds. I'd let him 15
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down if I gave a negative response. "If you would like me to go... I'll do it, maybe it'll be... a chance to perform my social adaptation exercises, I'm sure my mom would be delighted," I answer. A little embarrassed, I drop my head after having tried to hide the cocktail of emotions fizzing and frothing within me. I know full well I cannot hide anything from him. His hand rests on my shoulder. I tilt my head and see his look of disapproval. "You'll never be normal, Amber. It's the same for me, and it's great because you're special." The tender vibration of his voice seeps into my bones causing the same electric sensation I had earlier. This time throughout my entire body. "Do you really believe that?" His other hand, wheat-coloured, elongated and resting on his knee, waits to quell any rebellious emotion in my gut. "I promise to do my best so you won't be too overwhelmed at the party," he assuages my qualms with his noble intentions. We then eat our lunch. Enki takes out his brown bread smeared with a black paste, with 16
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green plant leaves and a red fruit cut into slices. His lunches have always provoked my curiosity, but I have never dared to try them. Everyone hates the Terra food. What if I hate it? Then I will seem rude. It would be impossible to hide anything from him. We finish eating our lunch. I take my four supplements with my green vitamin drink, and the bell signalling our return to class squeals in my ear as if it were being pinched without mercy. I am a nervous wreck. We say our goodbyes promising to see each other at the party tomorrow. â?€ While walking, I bump into the classroom door and realise my journey has been unconscious. I cannot even remember the route I took to get here. I go in and sit in my ergonomic chair, pull out my screen and become mesmerised upon seeing the sunlight beaming through the window. The pale blue of the walls has been shimmering a lot today. Ivan and Angela are coming towards me. Behind them enters Lucy, who sends me a penetrating stare like the tip of an arrow. She is always stunning. Every day she is fashionably dressed. She paints her mouth a bright red, or fuchsia. Her 17
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eyes are outlined with permanent make-up. Her hair is dark and frizzy, and it falls to her shoulders. She has a movie star silhouette: prominent breasts and a slim waist. Most guys see her as a dessert, ready to eat. I am a little envious of her. Not because of her body, I could not bear all those lewd and predatory glances. But rather because of her personality. She goes around talking to everyone, she's not afraid of anything and neither does she seem to even suffer. Her voice is high and imposing. And when she wants something, she takes it without asking. She is so unlike me, she never hesitates! Behind her enters the maths teacher. She has her hair coloured blond and wears a lot of makeup. I am certain she has had her second plastic surgery. Her face is expressionless. She is always dressed in black, sporting high heels. Her voice is like a mouse squeak. She is forever eager to explain something. Her disturbance leaves me ruffled and unsettled. I never identify what the heck she is thinking, unusual for me as I can predict what people around me plan to do. She is mysterious and unpredictable. I have a hunch she wants me to become closer to her son, Andrew. And that makes me nervous. Although she behaves as if she were an unfeeling and relentless glacier, she does not treat me as she treats the others. 18
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I have this strange wish that someday an alien ship would land in my garden. Some creatures, not humans, would descend from the craft. Then they would enter my house while my mother was not there, speaking in a foreign tongue I could understand. I hope they would say, 'we have found you, we can go home'. Then I would get on the spacecraft happy that I was among beings of my own species. But when I imagine leaving Earth I feel a cutting twinge in my stomach. Not because I would abandon my family. I think they would be relieved deep down if I were to disappear from their lives even if they would not be able show it. No! I would be upset for Enki since he is the only person it would pain me to leave behind. Enki does not seem to feel as alone as I do. He always tells me about his grandfather who understands him. He says his mother looks a lot like him. And although his sister and father sometimes fail to follow his logic, they never consider him crazy, in fact quite the opposite. They attempt to understand what he tries to say. They trust him and support him. "How are the exercises going?" The harpy voice of my teacher tears me out of my daydream, planting me back in the classroom. "It's all good, I'm on number thirty-six," I answer startled and trying not to look at her as if 19
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she were Medusa and she could turn me to stone. "Thirty-six hm? A little ahead of the others then," comes her voice over my shoulder as she checks my screen table. The artificial smell of her perfume makes me sneeze. She then confirms that my answers have all been correct. She releases a sigh of disappointment mixed with a puff of frustration from her nose. As if for her it were important to explain something. She walks away without insisting on anything, with that typical slow and steady gait of hers. Her heels echo on the ceramic flooring. I feel a slight chill in my spine. Andrew, her son, is seen by everyone in the female community as handsome. Angela and Ivan consider him the finest 'catch'. The perfect guy for me. This is true according to the criteria of my mother. He gets good grades at school, he is stern and formal, and he is from a wealthy family. His mother is a teacher and his father a surgeon who specialises in organ transplants. He is everything a conventional procreator could desire for her 'conventional' daughter. Despite all this, to me he just seems cold and threatening. In fact, I have to confess that at first glance I also find him ugly, which must be another one of my eccentricities. He has blue eyes, white skin, he is athletic and tall, his nose is straight and his lips are full and 20
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red. But for me, although everyone goes crazy for him, I do not like the expression he wears on his face. 'Andrew is of educated stock, he is not a deluded ignoramus' says my mother sometimes. When she recites this kind of thing, she reveals her not-so-hidden prejudices towards Enki. She may as well go on and say: 'while your best friend is feral, backwards, and naive'. She expresses herself indirectly because it is taboo to discriminate against one of the Terra. She has never been frank. It is difficult to detect if what I think she is thinking is true or of my own invention. That drives me nuts, I would love to shake her out of all this insincerity. But when I get the urge to do it, I feel such a terrible pang of guilt. That said, sometimes her actions confirm my suspicions. Or then again, perhaps my suspicions produce these actions of hers? How would I be able to know?
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Safe At Last, Princess The bell rings out again. Its squeal needles itself into my eardrums and makes me jump. But after the shock I am overcome with sheer relief. I remember how close my room is. My little comfortable world I have built to be my rabbit's den, an ideal hideaway. We get ready to leave school. The urge to breathe fresh air moves us along. We pass by the side of our chairs. The sounds of our movements create a symphony of chaos and agitation. Just like those musical works from before the Pandemic that the intellectual elites used to call 'contemporary music'. We grab our screens and put them in our backpacks. It is an automatic sequence we have repeated every day without fail at the same time ever since we can remember. My ten classmates walk to the door, forming a single file queue which looks like a giant centipede. Everyone lets the teacher go first with the forced politeness typical of the Pavlov method. You are rewarded if you follow the rules, while if you don't, you are punished. It has nothing to do with kindness. I am always the last, which is always unpleasant. I pack my things up slowly so 22
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when I get to the exit nobody is there. It never works. "Are you coming to the party?" Angela asks me. I go over towards my friend so we can leave together. We are alone. The space amplifies the sound of every little movement. "Yes, I gave my word to Enki," I confess sighing. The indiscreet echo bounces off the walls. My hands tense. "You don't seem very excited! What's on your mind? It's just a party." While finishing her sentence, my friend gives me a soft shove with her shoulder to relax me. It is what she always does when she sees me caught up in these mental knots. "Would you help me with my dress?" My eyes drop revealing my embarrassment. I regard her without moving my head, scared in case she rejects my cry for mercy. "Of course! Come to my house and we'll go together. You could stay over if you wanted." Her eyes throb with the enthusiasm of an excited little girl looking forward to her longawaited new doll, ecstatic at the thought of dressing her with exotic dresses, doing her hair and 23
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putting on make-up. "That's not a bad idea," I sigh relieved. "At six, what do you think?" She holds my hand for a few seconds and clenches her teeth, showing a smile of uncontrollable excitement. We leave the class and cross the courtyard. The glare of the sun hits my eyes. I have to wear my hat. My head turns in all directions trying to catch sight of Enki. I stare between the metal doors of the classrooms and among the groups of classmates clumped together in front of the exit. As I am scanning the crowds, I come across a familiar silhouette. It hides in a corner just to the left of the security scanners. My body tightens up for no reason. A boy with his black jacket open is showing off his muscular pecks. They catch the eye of every girl. The dark shiny trousers have red spirals on the sides. They are so tight that every muscle in his long legs stands out. His eyes, half-hidden under his silver coloured cap, track their prey. I am not able to make out his identity yet, but I already sense an irrational spasm of worry in my belly. Something is not right.
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The scene steals my attention. I catch sight of the defiant locks of blond hair poking out from under a familiar cap. This mysterious Casanova lifts his face trying to widen his panorama. A green flash beams from his eyes, exposing his hawk-like gaze. My legs go weak and turn into spaghetti. My heart pounds and my stomach shrinks. It's John! My eyes tense and dart around looking in every direction. I need Ivan. Where is he? "Are you ready for the party, then?" The promptness of his presence makes me jump. My tension is there, unveiled for all to see. His hand drops its weight on my shoulder, it sparks my reflexes and I throw myself around to face the voice. My eyes are filled with an irrational terror. "Ivan! John is at the entrance! I need your help!" My panting is extreme. Only when I look at my friend's eyelids, wide-open mimicking mine, do I realise that my excitement is disproportionate. It's so ridiculous! What's going on with me? The exhaling of his breath hits me on my cheek. Startled, he tries to control the fright I have given him. "Not to worry, my dear lady. I will accompany 25
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you and defend your honour with my life," Ivan proclaims in mock tones of a court knight, trying to hide his shock. I notice straight away. He winks at me trying hard to calm the beating of his heart. He takes my arm as if I were an eld erly woman in need of help to cross the street, mustering from the depths of his being what little confidence and bravery remained in him. We go through the main door. We continue past the security scanners in the opposite pillar where the 'wannabe' predator is camouflaged. I try turning around to make sure he is there. Ivan gives the signal with a quick nod and pulls me by the arm so I can hide my face under my hat. I obey. And with a subtle hurry, we walk to where the bikes are without looking back. "Hey beautiful, are you hiding from me?" John's hoarse and booming voice sounds over my right shoulder. We turn to face him. My heart rate speeds up even more. Ivan's arm trembles. No doubt he is alarmed. "Dear sir, I'm afraid this fair maiden has company," says my protector. "Well, another gentleman wishes to take his place," replies my pursuer in the same grotesque style as Ivan. 26
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The hunky blond stretches his neck toward us, his ferocity is raw. His wild eyes and his forceful glance betray his primal desire to pick my friend up and launch him over to the other side of the path. "And what if it's her who gets to choose with whom she wants to go?" challenges Ivan putting on a confident and manly voice. The arm that my protector has wrapped around mine shakes. I give him a firm squeeze so he knows that he has my support. I didn't want John notice our fear, but it is too late for that now. "Mm!" John pulls on my shoulders dragging me towards him. He is so gruff. I fix my grip on Ivan and drag him along with me. I bounce off John's half naked chest. A splatter of his sweat imprints itself onto my cheek. I push him away being as friendly as possible and I untangle myself from his arms with a pleading but unconvincing gesture. "Sorry, I'm going with Ivan," I say. I am terrified! "Okay, princess, this time I'm letting you go," John draws his hands apart at chest height leaving open his huge palms. He makes out he is innocent. "Hey babe, you've got plenty more opportunities with me. See you soon. I suggest you 27
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think more about your future!" He says the last part while holding me by the chin. For a moment, I get to see inside his olive green eyes. I glimpse a heavy jumble of sadness and false pride. That must be the source of his arrogance, a desperate attempt to be less miserable. John lets go of my face. He gives me a hamfisted yet tender pat on the cheek and goes off with his chest held high. Before getting on his motorbike he throws a withering glance at my friend, sizing him up from top to bottom. He scans Ivan's clothing with a sneer. Without words his eyes yell, 'your frilly getup is ridiculous', then he leaves. The entire experience is oxymoronic, it was bitter, yet tender in an awkward, macho way, I even felt compassion, but above all fear! "Ugh! Well, today we won the battle, but to win the war we'll need reinforcements." My friend's voice is quivering. He rubs his hands over his thighs to remove the sweat from his long and delicate hands. My legs flutter in the air, so I wait before getting on the bike. Without saying a word I look at the floor. I ask the pavement for help. The first priority is to sort out this confusing cocktail of conflicting emotions. Now! Ivan swings his head around to check for John, just in case he returned. He takes me by 28
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the shoulders. He pulls me in near with a fake macho stance and hugs me as he always does. "Do you want me to take you back to your house?" he asks when we let go of each other. I nod, pleading with the look of a rained-on kitten. "Okay. You buy the drinks tomorrow night." He winks, but his silly joke fails to lighten the mood. "Has it ever occurred to you how we could get rid of John?" he muses while mounted on his bike. "No. Well yes, but I haven't found a solution," I reply. "It's as if he were a plague that could mutate, replicating himself with the help of pesticides. Jeez! Why is he after me? What about Lucy? Why doesn't he go and bother her?" I moan. "The problem is his gang. One day the magnificent idea of coming after us may dawn on them. Are you with me? He's the favourite son of a general. We're done. Our 'dear friend' John is immune from the clutches of the law." He looks at me worried. "Perhaps I should tell my parents even if they say I'm exaggerating." I sit on my bike. My legs have stopped shaking. "Let's not stop looking for a solution," Ivan lets 29
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out a last breath of concern. Calmer, well, less shaken at least, we take our steeds and head toward my house. We do not take the short-cut. Those abandoned buildings turn out to be fertile ground for dangerous gangs. Although they gather in the evenings, our common sense urges us not to risk it. We are very frightened and so without having to agree we go via the safest route we know. "Safe at last, princess. See you tomorrow, right?" I plant a strong kiss on his cheek. When we say our 'goodbyes', he sends me a not-very-convincing smile, it is more of an embarrassed grimace. He is an entanglement of concern and shame. The trembling of his arms betrays his fear. I guess he will not win any kudos for manliness, and he knows it. "Thank you," I whisper, awkward and aware that I have been witness to my oldest friend's most intimate feelings. He disappears around the corner. I let out a deep sigh, then put my precious bike into the garage connecting its electric motor into the mains. My legs climb the steps leading to the front door, a restored wooden relic with a layer of red synthetic rubber. I walk like a robot along the small, 30
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white tiled hallway. I come into the kitchen and activate the button for supplying hot water. I rummage around looking for one of those 'soothing infusion' pills before tossing what I find into the liquid. With the mug well gripped, I take it into the living room. I slip my shoes off and drop onto the couch, spilling the tea over my hands. My teeth clench as the scolding intensifies, but I keep my balance and prevent more spillage. I need to organize this head of mine.
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