I felt like I was coming down with something. Like a cold I couldn’t shake off; like a never ending allergic reaction. I looked out the window hoping something could give me relief. I sniffle, breathing out of my mouth along with a moan of frustration. It had been six weeks and I felt like I was getting worse. Crumbled up tissues surrounded me like a barricade. The waste basket was already filled to the rim and I refused to throw my snot on the floor. I grabbed the tissue box and rocked it in my arms like a child. I took one out as the sandpaper tissue hugged my already pink, tinted, scaly nose. I blew.
Looking out the window I stared at the many people scurrying down below. They looked like small ants with stiletto heels and glittery shirts on. Their hair bounced as the light wind from the late autumn night caught it. They linked arms with tall men with broad shoulders and shiny shoes. The radiant glow of the moon made shadows behind them as they walked past the tall cement buildings. I sniffled again, grabbing another tissue out of the box. I leaned my clammy face against the moist, cool window and sighed with relief. The city lights were so far from reach. I closed my eyes as I breathed slowly out of mouth.
The low melody of my Beethoven cd was on its last track and I wasn’t going to start it again. Standing from the warmth of the sill, I proceeded to my bedroom that reeked of antiseptic and eucalyptus. My tired, swollen eyes scanned the room. It felt so stale, so repeated, so boring. I looked down at my black pumps still sitting in it’s box not yet worn. I sniffled again. Maybe next weekend I would feel better enough to go dancing, or to at least debut my new shoes. I took off my clothes to change into fresh pajamas, even though I didn’t leave the house all day, and climbed into bed.
The beginning of my new fiction piece..Inspired by my mornings…
Ironic enough that a second after I wrote this piece, I sneezed..