by Barbara Audisio
I woke up in my bed wearing the bad feeling that it wasn’t my house. I had a headache and I struggled to open my eyes. The pain crushed the eyelids on my face.
The unnatural silence that was around, just outside the windows, woke me up. I live in the countryside, so it is normal that there isn’t so much noise, but the total absence this morning was too much even for this place and brought with it a feeling that cut my back like a knife. It was a heavy silence, oppressive, cold and hard as stone.
When I tried to get out of bed I opened my mouth in a grimace and broken breath. I had not a single muscle and bone that did not hurt, as if I had been beaten and perhaps it is. With difficulty I reached the bathroom, and I stripped in front of the mirror. I have nothing. No bruises, no cuts, not even a wound, anywhere. The skin is intact, immaculate.
But it hurts when I pass my fingers on.
It was then that I realized that there was no water. I wanted to take a shower, but the pipelines are not even bubbled, not slamming and that means that there was no water in them for a long time and that they are completely dry.
I opened the door, closed with the usual two turns and I went outside.
Everything is mitionless. The house across the street has the windows wide open, but not as usual, are unnatural, not an order, such as someone’s arts that is launched from the sixth floor and landed on the floor. I feel my lips become dry.
The air is warm like in early spring and is the only thing that I recognized in that landscape that appears totally new.
The neighbor’s dog that always barked for no real reason and caused screams and calls by the owner, now is silent. He always slept down on the floor of the porch, not far from the door, but now the door is closed and he is not there.