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Chapter III
Night is still young. Leg stopped to bleed and you are free of bondage.
But where and who is she? What was that urge that drove you to this house?
Who you are? Did you ever knew?
You are trying to remember but it is like to try to remember things that never happened.
On first page of small book covered by dark aged skin is glued small mirror and you can see face of young pale white man, skinny cheeks covered by bristle, dark shadows under eyes too.
Do you remember your face? Did you always possessed that one?
Subtle hands somebody who never need to fight or work manually on pages of diary covered by blue ink written words. Letters are small, sharp, scattered and not really carefully written, first impression on these notes is somebody who was in hurry in thinking written these texts and it was almost sure hand of man. Atmosphere suddenly change when creek of main door suddenly sounds and echoes in house.
Somebody is coming.
In hurry notebook is hidden in pocket and you can catch yourself almost running down on wide stairs to entry room. Than you are standing next to door, waiting for coat of stranger who just entered into wast hall full of colored beams of light passing through windows of unusual shapes. Glimpses of strange images -coming from nightmare of somebody who still do have imagination- could be seen on the edge of sight. When you touch strangers coat your crude strong old hand of all-life-working man can feel elegant expensive soft wool and that feeling remains you lost memories of hers skirt, old warm sweeter she used to wear and autumn. Feeling of hot blood running into your black polished shoe from under of your black trousers. Wound caused by razor opened again. Few words where told. Stranger is young tall man with pale skinny face, without suitcase, but with look somebody who just arrived to the town. Confused enough by new feelings caused by mysterious entry room he does not notice notebook covered by dark aged skin fell out of his coat pocket. You are not fast enough to return it back to him, because he is gone before you can bend your old back to pick it up.
Chapter II
Diary, razor, blue flowers
and exotic scent
You are trying to remember. Everything is veiled by mist.
You have entered into house, then standing under stairs you have given
your coat to faceless butler. Pictures on colored windows are
changing shapes like some kind of nightmare dreams hidden in dusty
corners of your mind. Have you been so tired and fell asleep?
Why you are in this room just woken up in old skin covered armchair not even remember you have fell asleep?
Cigarette is burning between your fingers, some old kind one without
filter, smell of dark French tobacco is smooth on you lips, tongue and
in throat.
Behind almost clear window, again covered by ages old dust it is
getting dark and it is raining. You know it, much more because of
feeling because of soft whispering in your confused head and because
grimness atmosphere in the room.
It is not cold but you can feel without tartan blanket you are covered
with it can be little uncomfortable. Inhaling tasty smoke make you
feel calm and self confident even you know nothing about situation you
are in, nothing to be afraid you think, just old silent room with
walls covered by age darkened expensive ornamental wallpapers, rain
behind window, drying flower in old vase on the table.
There are two glasses and empty bottle of port vine, too. One of
beautiful crystal glass have red lipstick mark on the edge and it is
not completely empty.
No single memory with whom you gotten drunk, but that crimson red
lipstick is exactly color of lips you like to kiss and usually girls
you like to flirt with use to wear this kind.
peaceful emptiness.
Again you can feel more than hear that somebody is opening door and
scent of of heavy mysterious exotic perfume compound with natural
smell of room and dark tobacco smoke. "Good evening dear Guest," her voice is soft and and profound, not
like heavy smokers or old people have, "welcome in one of most secret
places in town." She is still behind you and it does not seem that she want to come in
sight.
It is first moment you have tried to move and first moment when you
have realized that you cannot because one of your legs and left hand
are bound to old chair you are sitting in.
Panic shiver goes over your spin. "Don't be afraid Guest, I will not hurt you more than you like, your
bondage is only first step on your travel to find who you are and what
your conscience and sub conscience want."
"My name is Alice and I'm owner of this place of dreams. Without this
small trick every mystery and magic could be lost in short time and
that is not reason, why you have entered this house, don't you think?" Few pictures suddenly appear in your mind.
Old, black and white, almost faded photography of house, door with
rusty mailbox with mysterious, half covered figured of somebody
passing through. Old hand written draft of article in skin covered
diary, you are using for make notes about your dreams. "Yes, you remember, I can feel it. So feel free to explore my house
and you can stay as long as you want. You can unbound yourself by
blade lying on the table and you can you can use front or back door to
leave and enter building whenever you want. There is only one rule:
when some door are locked, you are not allowed to enter and please do
not even try." Your sight catch silver light on the table and in same moment your
feel she left the room but her musky exotic smell still stays in room
remind you something long time lost in your heart but in short time
soft breeze with rain scent prevail. It is not so easy to move whole old armchair with lion like legs you
are bonded to but you finally can pick half opened silver razor blade
from heavy wooden table laing almost out of your reach. Your diary is
lying nearby and both, diary and blade, are covered by petals of small
blue forget-me-not flower from vase. Some memory, like ghost is trying
to show you something, but street lamp behind of window cover room by
its orange light suddenly and ghost memory disappear before it can be
unveiled.
At last both of your hands are free and both legs too. Really sharp
blade is covered by few drops of your blood flowing down from open
wound on your leg. Wound is not dangerous but it will make you scar
for sure because it is deep and wide opened. Warm blood between toes
on your bare food.
Chapter I
She told me her book will be like house, every chapter will be one room and I have found I want to walk through one of my own.
