Berlin, 2009

Berlin, 2009
We want more voices, thoughts and languages!

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Ten Minutes Flight: from Ejik's new February Stories collection

Ten minutes to midnight. It’s the time when cleaners go to the window to see if the pumpkin coach lands on the meadow downstairs. The time when worms hide because of the high-heel shoes’ rain. Frogs disappear, those who do not want to become princesses. And whales preemptively start burping – just in case. Ten minutes to reach the bunker or meet eternal luck! Each of those minutes weighs as candle light – or plumb. It runs away as fast as blood into the veins. I was looking for my dress in distress. Where could it be? Where was it last time? I run through the rooms of the castle while time drops on my hands like spring rain. My heart thuds as fast as my fingers leaf through the cloths hanging in the wardrobe. My beautiful velvet skirt – where is that? Oh – I’ve been tripping over my braces for days and now that I need them – I cannot find anything! It’s already five to midnight and I’m still naked in front of the avocado plant, looking for a shirt in the closet. Tyrannical time! I wonder what will be happening when midnight strikes. If that was an appointment I could miss it – but I’ve none – that’s why I must absolutely be ready. It wouldn’t be fair – to arrive late for hope. Can I? Three minutes – only three minutes to midnight. I’m barefoot in front of ten pairs of shoes. On top of the table I deposed several socks of many different colors. I should at least match socks and shoes. I run to the window to see if the pumpkin coach is descending – but I see only a deep purple sky. Stars gleam here and there painting a trace. Oh my Love! I must get ready. Two minutes, only two minutes to midnight. I run in front of the mirror and brash my two teeth. I clean my face with cold water and comb my hair so-so. One minute. I’ve got only one minute. I’m still naked in the middle of the bedroom looking for my dress under the pillows, even under the bed. Too late. It’s midnight. I glance at the window and there’s neither sparkling light nor the giant, ripe pumpkin, let alone the prince. I hug my blue frog puppet hiding my sorrow in a tear. When the tear touches its big mouth, the frog talks to me and says: “My lovely silly one, it’s ten minutes I’m looking at you. Haven’t you learned to put things away yet? Look on the second drawer, under the books and you’ll find shirt, skirt, socks, braces and even shoes.” I look at my frog puppet with fright, it’s talking! “I would suggest you don’t wear any of those though.” The puppet’s shape is changing in the middle of a blue stain. “You have been hugging this puppet every night” he tells to me. I can see it’s not a puppet anymore rather a real giant blue frog: “why did you suppose I would come with a coach driven by horses then, you silly one?” Only now I recognized my love. “And then, monkey! Haven’t you learned yet how fast I am?! Maybe a pumpkin coach would have arrived at midnight!”

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