Amongst Fish

I was in an aquarium. Glass surrounded me and people were constantly walking past, peeking in curiously, sometimes they would wave goofily. The other fish in the aquarium were all different from one another: some were of a completely different species yet we all got along with each other, even if it meant not talking with each other, or establishing eye contact for that matter.

I was concentrating on what was in front of me: some stones shaped like hearts when, suddenly, I was interrupted by the waitress:

‘The usual coffee, dear?’

‘Yes, please. Could you also bring me a glass of water?’

‘Sure thing.’

A friend of mine walked past the cafe, looked in, spotted me, and waved. I waved back and hoped he wouldn’t come in and expect to chat. I really wasn’t in the mood. In fact, I really wished I were a fish so my memory would only last three seconds, because then I wouldn’t have to remember what happened last week. I still couldn’t believe I had acted so immaturely. I feel myself blush every time I think of it.

He walked in. I sucked it all in and smiled.

‘Hey,’ I said smoothly.

Some secrets are best kept secret

My grandmother was sitting next to me on the sofa. She had on a blouse that had belonged to her great-grandmother. It was an amazing item of clothing – not only because it had been in the family for so long, but because it had an impressive jewel encrusted on one of the buttons.

We sat there calmly talking about her 80^th birthday which was only 8 days away, when lo and behold the jewel seemed to gain a life of its own: some type of smoke started being secreted by it and it slowly rose into the air in front of her, held on to the blouse by one of the threads which had bolted it down for so many years, and just hovered there.

My grandmother was so excited, telling me about the lunch menu that she didn’t notice it straight away, but she saw my gaze, awe-struck as I was, my eyes glued to that magical rock. She stopped speaking and glanced down at her blouse. Her eyes opened wide, before she swiftly knocked the jewel away with her hand. It fell immediately to the floor and the smoke extinguished itself.

‘Gran, what the hell was that?’

‘Nothing you need to worry about for now my dear,’ she said calmly. Too calmly.

(h)ear

Once upon a time a young girl was looking out her window. She could see her neighbours, as well as hear them, even though they were separated by 200 meters. No, she couldn’t read lips and no, she wasn’t just making up their conversation, she could genuinely hear the words they were pronouncing.

Her parents didn’t understand how this could be, and thought that maybe she was special, and that they might be able to get some money out of her ability. They took her to various doctors, but they only checked her ears and her brain, and could never find anything abnormally wrong, or right, with her. So for the time being, she was just a girl with extremely good hearing. Her parents, however, didn’t believe this was it. In fact, the whole affair started to annoy them as they never had any privacy with her in the house. Their daughter was also not happy and would frequently be bothered when her parents were clearly trying to whisper to each other, but were, in fact, speaking so loudly she could hear every word of whatever blasphemy they were going on about. This made her parents feel self-conscious with anything they said, and just walking around the house became a burden. The poor girl had tried everything, from getting reinforced glass windows to earmuffs and super insulating headphones to no avail. 

After some time dealing with this “impairment” her parents took her to another doctor for a full check-up. The results weren’t good: she had tuberculosis, hence her improved hearing. Her parents were saddened, as it finally dawned upon them that their daughter was normal, or rather, even worse, their daughter was extremely sick, and all they had thought of was how they could get money out of her ears. The mother had noticed her getting increasingly thinner, and her constant fatigue, but thought it was because of everything she had to deal with, what with having to listen to everything everyone around her was saying. This upset her and her husband deeply, but the girl was happy she finally had an answer to her ailment and could see peace and quiet at the end of the tunnel: no more listening to her parents’ intimate conversations, her neighbours’ incessant arguments, all the animals in the garden chirping and grunting, even the falling and landing of the leaves from the trees in the garden.

The next day she started taking the antibiotics and, as if taking placebo, she immediately felt better, regardless if she would be taking those drugs for the next 6 to 12 months or not. She was finally happy and on the way to being normal again.

She looked out the window in her room, observed her neighbours: they were quietly sitting on their sofa reading. Everything was calm. ‘Soon, it will always be like this... and I just can’t wait!’

Gluttony

A little boy rolled his £2.60 into the Ben & Jerry’s machine. A steep price to pay for such a small tub of ice cream, but the show put on by the machine was worth it.

On tiptoes he pressed his hands and face against the window: let the show begin! The vacuum-like instrument lowered, the crate of ice cream opened, slowly and dramatically as if it were a treasure chest, revealing all the different flavours. It moved until it was hovering over the Chunky Monkey boxes, dropped out of sight and started to suck up the little tub. The boy’s eyes wide with amazement, awaiting his dessert.

The vacuum was ascending slowly, the lid in sight, up it came, yet, shock, horror, where was the ice cream? The machine placed the lid down, and the boy grabbed it with both hands as if to say ‘Is this it?’. He glanced back at the machine, hoping it would go back for the rest of his £2.60, but no such luck.

Tears flooded his eyes as he walked away with a mere lid in his hands. With his back already turned to the machine he heard it make a loud noise, as if laughing at his misery. The tears started to run down his face.

Walls

When I travel, I always worry about my neighbours. I always hope they’re respectful people who won’t listen to my telephone conversations. For that reason, I always call hotels before booking, to enquire about the composition of the room walls. Ideally, they should be between 4" and 4.5” and minimally soundproof.

You see, after having travelled my entire childhood and young adulthood, I know what it’s like to hear everything your neighbours say or do in the room, or in the bathroom.

I prefer the rooms to have double locks, and I am always extremely careful so as not to forget to place the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door before closing it, in order to avoid any unwanted visits from the housekeepers at inopportune moments, that they seem to have a knack for choosing to clean your room at.

In my line of business all these precautions are absolutely necessary.

I make quite a few calls a day, all of the utmost importance and secrecy. The details that are usually exchanged could bring some serious complications if they fell into the wrong hands. For that reason I have started speaking with code words, which are previously agreed on with my customers. This did, and still does, from time to time, generate some mix-ups, especially among the new customers who sometimes forget the agreed upon words and end up going to a completely different place, leaving me waiting, generally in a secluded street, raising suspicious glances from passers-by, with goods in hand that could get me into serious trouble. However, when I’m certain that the walls of my room are thick enough for none of my neighbours to hear me, I can be a little less strict, which is why I always call the hotels.

But why, you may ask, do I take these precautions, and what merchandise am I distributing that could bring me these so called dilemmas? You see, as a member of the Russian Mafia, I can’t afford any slips, which is why I won’t be telling you what it is I negotiate about with my customers, because if I did, my bratva⁽¹⁾ would probably play Russian roulette with my life.

⁽¹⁾ Russian mafia gang; brotherhood.

A Little Fable

"Alas," said the mouse, "the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into."

"You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up. 

Franz Kafka