Translator: Schiotka
Editor: Pasadera, JacquelineMonaie
__________________
Four years earlier.
Corridor. Dark.
Covered in old paneling that was rough to the touch. Leading to two small rooms.
Shoes strewn across the floor; a few clothes.
Annoying, creaky floorboards.
At the end of the corridor the last door stood wide open, leading to his room.
Nivan's room.
A bed, desk, computer, laptop, cables, empty cardboard boxes, scattered clothes, a few rainbow socks.
Night. Bright light emanating from the screen of the computer. The sound of a fan.
The illuminated profile of a man. Ruffled red hair tied high up on his head. With a bored expression, he turned to the man sitting on the bed. A man with a lovely, naked back.
Tension.
"Haven't you had enough?" the man asked in anger. He sat with his back against the wall.
Silence.
"I asked you a question, Nivan."
"Are you blind?"
Rav's brown eyes filled with disgust. He watched Nivan's restless movements as he sat on the edge of the chair, in front of the desk.
"I think you should lay it off. You've already had a lot today."
"And you not enough, it seems," Nivan responded. Rav gritted his teeth.
"I'm not telling you this to piss you off..."
"...then why the fuck?"
Silence.
Boiling anger.
Indifference. Be indifferent. He's not important to you. No one important...
Rav's jaw relaxed slowly, his shoulders dropped, eyes closed. His back clung to the cold wall, so pleasantly cooling his feverish body.
Calm.
The brown eyes opened again.
He looked at Nivan's profile.
The gentle line of a nose. A deep furrow in his forehead. Red hair pulled up high, an untidy mess on his head.
An absent green stare.
No one important...
No one important...
He repeated.
The man watched dispassionately as the Redhead lent down over the desk.
As the thin white line vanished with inhaled air.
____________________
The next day.
Fine, sunny weather, but a strong wind. Blue sky covered in whirling cumulus clouds.
Tall green grass dancing in the breeze.
A hill.
And them, on that hill.
Lying in the tall grass, staring up at the sky.
So similar, yet so completely different from each other.
YOU ARE READING
Echo of the Past
RomanceA 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...
