Ася

Feb. 6th, 2014 09:27 pm
uzheletta: (photo)
[personal profile] uzheletta
Аська опять написала кусочек текста, который меня поразил, и я джае не знаю, как реагировать.
текст по английски.

Memories


Everyone has a reason for being here on this Earth. Mine is upholding humanity. When someone rests on me, I cushion myself so that they’re comfortable, molding myself to their twists and turns. I’m a pillow.

I remember the way the old man used to lean on me. I remember, that I was for the small of his back, for when he was sitting on the long chair and leaned to the side. I remember the way that he would lean his elbow on me when he told stories to his grandchildren. I remember the way his back curved into me, his spine popping out, when he leaned forward. I remember the stories he told -- the story of how he met his wife and she smelled of lavender, the childrens’ grandmother, the story of the trenches of WW2, the story about how ‘I practically flew, but on a ship, to America’ and how hard it was there, how he would work in a factory, how life became better, the first time he ever tasted ice cream. And the ghost stories. He would tell those a lot, but I didn’t like them.

The old man. He was really bony, and he always had goose bumps on his elbow. He would wear a thin cotton undershirt, and then a plaid shirt on top that was open and cut at the elbows. He had shorts, shorts that used to be jeens. He would water their plants first thing in the morning. Once a day, he would water this large lavender bush, and he would always snip of one of those good-smelling leaves and put them in a jar. Then he would reek of lavender for an hour. He had these really pale blue eyes. They were electric, like they held you and you couldn’t let go.

I remember, one morning, just waiting for him to get off me to water the plants. It was 9 already, he was usually up by 8:30… I was worried, believe it or not. He wasn’t moving… What was happening? He was cold. Then again, maybe the heater wasn’t on. But the heater was always on, especially in winter, and the snowflakes were still drifting down. I saw them through the window… Plus, I hear the wurrrrr of the heater, but he’s frozen!! I try to move, get the grandma. The grandma was still asleep --she slept until he woke her up. Everything went blurry. I thought he was gone. That’s it, just gone. But he’s not. I’m still with him. His head is on me. That’s all I know. It’s very dark… I think I’m in a box… It still smells like lavender… I’m probably underground… He still has that old white cotton shirt with the plaid one on top… I still have the blue covering on me… I think I might follow him now. It’s very boring down here. I’m going up there.
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