Author: Olavia Kite

I broke my glass today after washing it. Two or three fragments fell on the sink, so I easily picked them up. However, when my foot slid quite uncomfortably on the floor, feeling something sandlike underneath, I discovered a tiny shard which had flown farther than the rest. I walked toward the bed, sat on it, and then walked back to the kitchen. To my surprise, when I looked down I discovered red prints which marked the way to my bed and back. Not even then did I feel the pain; only at about 10.30 am did I walk clumsily into the classroom.

I can still remember the bright freshness of my blood decorating the faux wood. Scarlet brushstrokes fading into maroon stamps remind me what is the shape of my heel.

Immediately after I recognized the accidental painting, I wiped it off nonchalantly and limped my way into the shower.

Look at the road, so long and lonely and untrodden. What lies ahead is impossible to see. It’s scary, yet tempting.

Shall we step on it?
Shall we follow it?

Yes, we shall.

(…)

You don’t feel like you’re actually leaving, do you?
No, I don’t.
But you are.
We’ll talk about that later, when I pinch myself, blink hard, and see the same funny characters staring back at me.

I dreamed of Jefferson Airplane last night. I don’t know what that may mean, but the music I listened to then was awesome.