Prologue
I...
Can hear the violins echoing in the vast marble hallway. The sound vibrates through the frozen, wintry air. Soft steps snap on the hard floor-one, two, three-high heels, the rustle of long rich dresses, delicate giggles and sweet nothings whispered. This is, probably, a masquerade ball, but I cannot know for sure, for my eyes have lost the ability to see. Where am I? The party seems to fade away, like a memory, like a dream, like a mere fantasy.
Vanilla, cinnamon and cigarettes...the scent fills the air, fills my lungs, burning my nostrils and my throat with their intoxicating aroma. I've always been fond of vanilla, be it only fragrance or taste. It reminds me of childhood, of ice cream in summer days, of pudding late in the night, when sleep refuses to visit my exhausted body. Cinnamon, on the other hand, is the odour I abhorred as long as I can remember. The dusty scent poisoned my nose, my lungs..it infiltrated everywhere. Cinnamon is bitter and exotic, cinnamon is a foreign smell. Whenever I am angry, bitter or depressed, the blasted flavour and smell overtake my senses. I cannot get rid of it. But in the case of cigarettes...this is something else. This addicting and malevolent fragrance is a new passion of mine, something that crept deep down into my being recently. It calms me with its spicy aura, it makes me think of home, although my parents never smoked. This is another kind of home. A home I discovered in my late twenties, when I was no longer mama's boy, when their cold grave would be the only welcoming that I could receive from them.
It's cold. I..wish I could cover my body with something. Move. Move! MOVE! But my body refuses to do so. The wind is whistling through an unseen hole, it sings the hollow song of loneliness, of stillness, it sings for someone who has no ears to hear, for someone that is deaf or for someone who cannot understand loneliness. This song is not for me, but I hear it and I am the only one who acknowledges this. My heart aches terribly inside my chest. But if it aches it means that is still there..right? I'm lying in something wet. What is this...? Is it water?
Why can't I move?
My head gets dizzier. How did I managed to get in this position? I try to recollect the day before, but all I can remember is having dinner with him. Is this a nightmare? Why can't I wake up? Also...is it even day or night? The taste of black grapes returned in my mouth, freshly and slightly bitter. Last night I had a black grape with my neighbour, despite the fact that I strongly dislike those grapes. After that, I lost my memory.
It's cold and dark...My head is getting more and more numb second by second. I can't feel the strange mix of scents, nor can I hear the wind whistling through the unseen hole. I might...