luka
Member
This is a short story I've written for one of my assignments. Enjoy! 
While falling to the ground, I’m feeling trapped in a screen of one movie that once I lived. Everything is sharper: colours; the lights rhythmically going on and off; a sinuous crowd that is splitting before me like a sea and my body stroke with a shiver, balancing in the middle of the fall. This is my moment of stagnation. A moment when nobody should make any decisions. The fall lasts and rituals stopping the time are more effective than ever.
This night, the lights were so warm, streaming on the contours of every existing shape. The crowd nourished with excitation trembled to the rhythm of roaring music. I was soaking into this shared consciousness letting them stop me in time. Between self-contained, completely cut off the world strangers the familiar face was flashing. It was my friend who could become whoever he wanted. His smile was broad and he laughed without inhibitions, taking from life more than decency allowed. It was his idea to come here, just like yesterday and the day before and I was following like a moth follows the light, addicted to a feeling that we can everything. At this moment, when the time broke into thousands of tiny pieces I felt that I really belong. So I throbbed with them, imitating their moves, precisely measuring spontaneity and chimerically feeling. And the lights, going on and off, like camera flashes were closing us in every passing second.
In the night like any other, loud crowds were storming through the streets. Their voices bent in my mind into one, lively hum. It was almost bright in the city lights. Everything was like always but this drunk routine grew into me so deeply and made me calm as ever. This night I remember the most out of other nights. I was following it many times in my mind, always with needles of anxiety slowly embedding my neck. I remember the faces of people passing by, my friend’s loud laughter and even weak jokes of a woman whose hand he was holding this time. Finally, his back when he was going downstairs to the underground station, perfectly cut off reality. In the night like any other, my friend dissolved on his way home. Eventually and in the highest meaning he soaked into the city and nobody saw him again.
Every night, crowds were throbbing to the rhythm of roaring music. More than once, I was standing between them, sipping off their excitation which was becoming awfully plastic in my mouth. I was looking at them, searching for any difference, I was wondering how it can function without the unseparated piece which was my friend. People whose faces I should remember were approaching me and asking about him. When they heard the answer they slowly nodded and uncomfortably sipped their colourful drinks. Melancholy was sitting between us on the empty chairs. But when this moment was over, they were coming back to their mad dances. I knew too well that soon I will join them, I will perform the rituals stopping the time and for a moment I will forget about my friend. I was balancing somewhere between mechanical happiness and subconscious distaste. I caught the light. I was burning.
In the moment of stagnation, everything becomes clear. A crowd is throbbing in a black web, hidden by the lack of light. He’s leaving just like the memory of yesterday’s smile. My eyes are drowned in a mist of tears. I’m flying towards the ground, greeting the dirty floor of a club like an old friend. There’s no hand that would try to catch me even if a throat is screaming for help. It is not waking me up. It is not my throat. My moment of stagnation is finishing with unexpected tranquillity. Tomorrow I will open a window and feel the cold wind over my almost naked body. I will look into the mirror without regret.
I don’t have to stop the time anymore.
Wonder Boy
While falling to the ground, I’m feeling trapped in a screen of one movie that once I lived. Everything is sharper: colours; the lights rhythmically going on and off; a sinuous crowd that is splitting before me like a sea and my body stroke with a shiver, balancing in the middle of the fall. This is my moment of stagnation. A moment when nobody should make any decisions. The fall lasts and rituals stopping the time are more effective than ever.
This night, the lights were so warm, streaming on the contours of every existing shape. The crowd nourished with excitation trembled to the rhythm of roaring music. I was soaking into this shared consciousness letting them stop me in time. Between self-contained, completely cut off the world strangers the familiar face was flashing. It was my friend who could become whoever he wanted. His smile was broad and he laughed without inhibitions, taking from life more than decency allowed. It was his idea to come here, just like yesterday and the day before and I was following like a moth follows the light, addicted to a feeling that we can everything. At this moment, when the time broke into thousands of tiny pieces I felt that I really belong. So I throbbed with them, imitating their moves, precisely measuring spontaneity and chimerically feeling. And the lights, going on and off, like camera flashes were closing us in every passing second.
In the night like any other, loud crowds were storming through the streets. Their voices bent in my mind into one, lively hum. It was almost bright in the city lights. Everything was like always but this drunk routine grew into me so deeply and made me calm as ever. This night I remember the most out of other nights. I was following it many times in my mind, always with needles of anxiety slowly embedding my neck. I remember the faces of people passing by, my friend’s loud laughter and even weak jokes of a woman whose hand he was holding this time. Finally, his back when he was going downstairs to the underground station, perfectly cut off reality. In the night like any other, my friend dissolved on his way home. Eventually and in the highest meaning he soaked into the city and nobody saw him again.
Every night, crowds were throbbing to the rhythm of roaring music. More than once, I was standing between them, sipping off their excitation which was becoming awfully plastic in my mouth. I was looking at them, searching for any difference, I was wondering how it can function without the unseparated piece which was my friend. People whose faces I should remember were approaching me and asking about him. When they heard the answer they slowly nodded and uncomfortably sipped their colourful drinks. Melancholy was sitting between us on the empty chairs. But when this moment was over, they were coming back to their mad dances. I knew too well that soon I will join them, I will perform the rituals stopping the time and for a moment I will forget about my friend. I was balancing somewhere between mechanical happiness and subconscious distaste. I caught the light. I was burning.
In the moment of stagnation, everything becomes clear. A crowd is throbbing in a black web, hidden by the lack of light. He’s leaving just like the memory of yesterday’s smile. My eyes are drowned in a mist of tears. I’m flying towards the ground, greeting the dirty floor of a club like an old friend. There’s no hand that would try to catch me even if a throat is screaming for help. It is not waking me up. It is not my throat. My moment of stagnation is finishing with unexpected tranquillity. Tomorrow I will open a window and feel the cold wind over my almost naked body. I will look into the mirror without regret.
I don’t have to stop the time anymore.