Showing posts with label morning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label morning. Show all posts


Morning flavor (sketch/drawing)

Hello, birdies :) I felt like sharing this drawing with you, to cheer up your mornings :) 
I wish I had more time for drawing these days, though. Recently I have discovered this band, they sound like a female version of Mumford and Sons, hope you like them. 
Kiss, kisses from the Other Side of Wonderland :) 


Blurred morning

Harassing sounds are coming out from the alarm clock. He strikes his hand and knocks it down the floor.  Stupid decision to get drunk last night: although being a grown up man, he still sneaks in the middle of party, mixing different drinks, just like a teenager. The result is always the same: awful headache lasting the entire day.
The sun bursting through the worn out shutter is burning the view of his tired eyes. He crawls out of bed, trying to get to the bathroom door, but his feet stumble upon the ashtray filled up with half smoked cigarettes. Splashing cold water feels like thousands of cold needles punching his face. No need to look in the mirror, he is aware of the unbearable reflection of his face after such night.
If only they had not fought last night... He knows the bitterness of the grey clouds following a quarrel, but there is nothing to ease the sorrow. All he wants to do now is to see her and apologize, although he does not remember exactly what to apologize for, the reason of the throwing heavy words at each other is skipping his mind now.
He puts on some clothes and leaves the flat quickly. At the first floor, he is prepared to meet nosy Miss Flemming, who is always ready to detect any movement on the stairs and to appear as natural as possible in the door frame. But this morning, instead of old flat door, there is a shiny advertising announcing the opening of Dr. Duncan’s stomatological cabinet. So it is true that in this fast expanding city, things do grow up after night.
The familiar way to the tram stop is marked by other small differences, but he blames on the terrible hangover becoming more and more intolerable. As he approaches the tram stop, he realizes there is not a tram stop anyway, but an underground station. He is completely amazed how he could not see that underground station before, he walks on this road everyday, takes the same tram number 7 everyday, in the same direction and he has never noticed an underground station nearby. A young fellow wearing a strange cap and headphones is passing by. He stops him rapidly and asks about the tram station. “The only way to get to city centre is this underground line. There is no tram here”, replies the stranger, visibly annoyed. The answer takes him by surprise, and he is not even conscious of his moves while standing on the escalators going down in the underground station, as in the huge mouth of an ogre. After a short trip and a couple of minutes of wandering around the streets, his mind is finally peaceful as he can recognize the well known blue shade of the house. Suddenly another anxiety feeling captures his heart: “what is he going to say to her? What is she going to say? Moreover, she will see him in this miserable state of hangover. Why did he behave so foolish a night before? Why?”
Well, now, he is just focusing to pull his body up the stairs to her flat. He feels so feeble and drained of power. As a rewarding prize, at the end of stairs, the buzzer is visible. He does not hesitate to push it and waits impatient for her to open the door. But the biggest shock of the morning is yet to come: in front of him is standing a little blonde girl, a perfect miniature copy of his Christine. He is so overwhelmed by this encounter that he can just mumble few words: “Where is Christine?”  
Hearing these words, the little girl rushes back into the flat, fast as lightning. His mind is scattered into the bizarre events of the morning and cannot understand anything, all seems like a sour joke to him. After few seconds, a housekeeper is showing up, looking eager to find out who he is. Again, his brain is blocked and his tongue gets numb while whispering: “Where is Christine?”  The housekeeper’s reaction is similar to the little girl's, becoming pale and anxious to close to the door, not before answering his question: “Miss Christine is not here. She died five years ago.”
This time the joke has gone too far and its cruelty reaches the paroxysm as his eyes roll back in his head, his heart fails pumping and his legs are clumping over stairs, almost falling. The world stands still for a couple of minutes, reality is playing tricks and fragments of faint images are mixing in a lethal cocktail.
All he wants now is to find a taxi, to go home, to hide from this upside down world, hoping he will wake up from this nightmare. He is limping down the stairs, crosses the street, strangely empty for this hour of day. But in the perfect reflection of the window shop next to taxi stand lays the most outrageous revelation of the morning. An old man with tangled white hair covering hypnotizing psychotic eyes is staring back at him… 



He was trying to avoid the annoying morning alarm. The same persistent alarm announcing an abrupt end to his dreams, howling for a new day filled with the well known routine. But this time, something was different: as much as he wanted to stop the noise, he could not reach for the mobile phone.  He felt the impulse running down his spine, going through the muscles and concentrating in his palm, but the effect was just a short spasm as of an agonizing person. He gathered all his senses to prove to himself he was as normal as before. 
No matter how hard he was trying to make use of his hands, it was in vain: they just laid there, on the bed, as two big long pieces of cotton.  To add more drama to the moment, that bloody alarm had not stopped, penetrating his brain with acute sounds.  Blaming the intense training from gym, he thought to hurry up to bathroom and start fresh the day. As he was coordinating his movements to get up, he experienced the same feeling of being extremely aware of his nerves and impulses travelling through his body. The reaction was far from the expected one: his legs stood still on the white sheet. Within one second he could feel a rush of adrenaline hitting his body without any result but a deep, painful headache.  As in a horror movie script, he could see himself played by a malicious giant hand, pinned down, forced to face the ceiling. His four limbs were torn apart from body, his head was loaded with burning thoughts, his skin was mixing with the sheet. Punishing his spinning brain, he was clenching to every reasonable explanation for his miserable state.  Nothing that was going on with him could rely on a sufficient realistic event. As being released from pressure, he could move his neck towards the mirror on the other wall of room. There, in the mirror, he saw the reflection of sun, sending sharp spears into his eyes. This glance, he had seen it before: last night, in the review mirror of the car. Yes, yes, his memory was back, building a puzzle inside his brain: the fight, the cry, her red lipstick, the car lights coming from behind, the door handle, the wet sidewalk, the run. And his heart, his heart pumping violently into his chest.
Suddenly, he could move his hand. He first touched his chest to assure himself of his beating heart, but there was no heart anymore...