by Paul Grech
There were one thousand five hundred eighty six tiles in her apartment. One thousand three hundred fifty two of them were stained a reddish hue of brown and provided the base colour of her kitchen, bedroom and small corridor. The rest, two hundred thirty four tiles, were pale yellow as if to indicate the slightly more meditative nature of the activities that took place in the bathroom. She had come to intimately know every one of those tiles during those three months people had been forced to spend inside. There was little else to do except move from one room to another, and in time she had come to know every little imperfection that marked each tile from the rest. There were four ghosts that haunted her, voices that echoed around her head. The oldest one had been with her thirty eight years, ever since she had been pushed into this world. The others had been picked up along the years, the results of a cursed attraction to disapproval; one in each decade. Physically they might have exited her life, or she had somehow managed to extract herself from theirs, but still she was hounded by their criticism. So much that she could no longer tell which were her thoughts and which were the reflections of others'. Try as she might to avoid such thoughts, distractions were so few that eventually she was forced to face up to them. At first the weight of all that darkness pushed her to despair; submerging her as if it meant to bury her alive inside her tiny apartment. But as with the tiles, she eventually came to notice the imperfections in those voices and recognise the lies that lay hidden in them. Slowly at first, inexorable later on. With each realisation, the voices lost a bit of their strength. There were one thousand five hundred eighty six tiles in her apartment when she was finally allowed to leave and she knew them all. But there was now only one voice in her head; hers and hers alone.
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Storja ta' Paul Grech
Dejjem kien iħares lejn l-aħħar Ġimgħa tax-xahar b'ċerta ħerqa. Dakinnhar il-kumpanija kienet torganizza dress-down u għalih dik li jilbes il-ħwejjeġ li jrid flok l-uniformi kienet opportunità biex joħrog l-individwalità tiegħu. Illum libes flokk b'messaġġ kontra l-użu tal-plastik. Kien ilu jikteb fuq Facebook dwar il-bżonn li n-nies jieħdu ħsieb l-ambjent, dejjem konxju li juża l-iktar ’hashtags’ popolari. Issa ried juri kemm hu kien midħla tas-suġġett. F'nofsinnhar stenna li kullħadd ikun miġbur madwar il-mejda fil-kitchenette qabel ma beda jippriedka fuq kemm jagħmlu hsara l-istraws u kif kien hemm bzonn jinqatgħu. Kien hemm min prova jbiddel id-diskors, imma hu kien determinat u qatgħalhom kliemhom. Wara l-ikla sab lil Marisa tistennieh. "Ma kontx naf li kellhek l-ambjent daqshekk għal qalbek," qaltlu. "Nhar il-Ħadd jien u xi ħbieb sejrin nagħmlu clean-up lejn Għar Lapsi. Titħajjar tiġi?" "Innaddaf? Il-ħmieġ? Nhar il-Ħadd? Erm, ħaqq xejn diġà miftihem ma’ xi nies." Marisa tbissmet, bħallikieku kienet qed tistenna dik ir-risposta. "Għal darb'oħra mela." L-idea li joqgħod jiġbor l-imbarazz ta' ħaddiehor xejn ma kienet togħġbu, għalhekk kien ivvinta skuża. Pero’ n-nofs daħka ta’ Marisa bdiet tniggżu. “Imma għalfejn?” staqsa lil nnfisu. Wara kollox, hu l-battalja tiegħu mal-istraws kienet, iddeċieda. Ħa ritratt tat-tazza fuq l-iskrivanija u tefgħu fuq Facebook flimkien ma’ messaġġ li m'hemmx bżonn straws biex tieħu belha ilma. Il-’likes’ bdew deħlin mill-ewwel u ħassu aħjar. |
Stejjer QosraStejjer qosra ta' inqas min mitejn kelma. Ikkuntattjana jekk trid taqsam l-istejjer tiegħek magħna. Kategoriji |