Found this old bit or prose that I wrote.. I reckon it must have been 2005 or 2006.
Meaning I’d have 5 years of proper English lessons and say 3 more of self-learned TV English.. Does that make sense? I’ll explain it some other time in a story called “How the A-Team made me bilingual”. My point here; bare with me on the structure, spelling and grammar.
Also, due to the content of the story, I included a picture of a cute kitten if you need to be cheered up at the end.
The floorboards made a squeaky sound as Dave slowly tried to transfer his gravity from one leg to another. The old stench of furniture that had been in the sun way too long hung violently around the walls, leaving a zone of fresh air, right in the middle. At least, Dave thought it was fresh air, as he could had been toxicated long ago. He didn’t know, he didn’t care and he certainly wasn’t sure. Of anything. But before he could think about it and fall into the same old pattern that he once knew, his attention got hold of something. From out the open door leading into the kitchen, something was appearing. Dave could see a silhouette of what seemed to be a human. But he could have been mistaken, as it wouldn’t be the first time his mind told him something that wasn’t true, even though theoretically the house was supposed to be empty. He even checked it at broad day light the other day. Failing from clichés he wasn’t really nailed to the floor, instead his curiosity dragged him towards the unknown..
Vivid memories came bottling up. The setting couldn’t be more perfect. The music.. the time.. everything. Well, nearly everything, because she passed away two years ago. But besides that, the resemblance was amazing. Too amazing perhaps, too amazing to be in my mind, Dave thought. “Fuck” he said, slapping his head as if it could knock out the thoughts, “Why now?”. It stayed quiet as time slowly passed by and Dave started to walk again, bare feeted this time. Somehow he had managed to soak his shoes and socks, so he noticed by the time his footsteps started to sound different than before. The floor wasn’t made for skin contact, it was made to keep everything from sinking. But things floating high above the floor would sink anyway. Almost immediately.
Then a white glow covered his eyes, he tried adjusting to the brightness of it all, but it was no use. Milli-seconds. So fast your mind can grasp it only after it’s been done, so you end up running after facts. This was a flashback. Or was it? Let’s see what we got. Chair, black, walls, blood, rope. A man on a chair with rope around his feet, his hands behind his back, a woman’s kerchief covering his eyes. The pattern on it reminds me of mid-summer nights in the fruit yards. Leaning against the ladders while inhaling the damp sweet air of apples and whatever more. The black painting on the floor had started to peel, broken flakes laid out over it. There, semi-covered, was a bracelet, with little round tablets of metal having carved in letters with all the colours of the rainbow, saying respectively “F”, “R”, “I”, “E”, “N”, “D” and “S”. The gurgling sound came from the man’s mouth. A dark crimson kind of thick fluid eradicated from it. His chest was shaking, his head violently hanging over the back of the chair and his hands crampingly evolving to fists before the whole scene froze, and his fingers went back from the eerie position to a dangling one. The room turned silent with exception for the occasional blood dripping on the floor. Focus left the man and hit the walls, torn posters and old flyers.