Chapter 1
She carefully swung open the wide window of her neatly arranged room. The sun was already shining through even at such early hours. I was indeed 5:30 a.m. Just another one of those sleepless nights; nights that would pass by with her thinking over and over again, worrying about issues she can barely remember in the morning.
Not quite long ago, she would wait until the late hours of every day just so she could close her eyes, drift away from reality and dream. But those last weeks, even this simple privilege was becoming impossible.
She met her reflection in the luxurious mirror that hung proudly on the wall, observing her tired green eye; those eyes that had been allowing her to see and to experience the good and the bad moments of the 46 years that had passed her by.
It felt like only yesterday she was this young girl full of life, dreams and ambition, who turned over night, into one of those older lifeless ladies she always avoided.
Her long brown hair flowed unattractively on two exhausted shoulders that had been helping her hold herself together.
She then forced a smile through her thin red lips, which she always blamed for speaking too little, and for holding her back whenever she wanted to express her feelings.
And with that fake grin, she then witnessed the appearance of small wrinkles that settled at the corner of her mouth: that caused her to stop immediately.
Afterwards, she slowly pulled her two hands up to the side of her face and tried to lift that old skin of hers, making it as youthful and energetic as it once was.
Turning away from herself, she heads towards the bathroom to splash some cold water against her face, maybe then she would actually be awake…
Leaving through the door, she glanced at her peacefully sleeping husband that laid on the right side of the bed.
Why couldn't she be more like him? She has always admired his ability to simplify things and to just take life for what it is. Back in the day she fell for his energetic fun way of looking at destiny; he was one of the few people with whom she could forget being herself, her serious, over thinking everything, neutral self. Sometimes she would wonder what he liked about her, what drew him to her, but after all she was so complicated and lost that it would be hard for anyone to know her… And that's how the question always asked itself; did she even know herself?
Reaching the door knob, she turned it, pushed that heavy piece of wood and entered the small room.
The sound of running water was surprisingly soothing, it rapidly reminded her of joy, peace, comfort… Then, joining her two hands together she observed while that colorless liquid filled the gap. She could hear herself smirk with a sound of sneering irony: How can Humans pretend to be so free and powerful when they depend so weakly on such simple, meaningless things?
And with the contact of the freezing water against her white skin, her thoughts were all lost for a minute. She could feel the world stop; the worries all fly away with nothing to do other than enjoying the feeling of that freshness that just hit her. But reality call came too soon, just as soon as she had to dry her face with a light blue towel and return to the four walls of her chamber.
Just against her real nature, this woman was actually very sociable; or at least she tries to be. She tries to blend in with the people that surround her, tries to belong in that neighborhood she lives in. She often explained this behavior as a way to escape her mind, to fight and to trim herself into being someone else, anyone else… And with what irony possible could you believe that those exact people that fascinate her are the ones to envy what looks to be a perfect life which she leads.
Her mornings are usually full of noisy visits, which subjects are very often the life of someone else. She would sit there, listening to three or four middle aged women gossiping on someone who could sometimes have gathered with them just the day before. She would rarely join the conversation in lack of something "interesting" to say. Instead she would sit there, kind of smiling with a look of disdain in her eyes… As if she was laughing at the whole world for being so shallow, and for caring about such useless matters.
In fact, she does recognize herself as being deeper than most of the ladies she gets to meet, but that never meant she liked it. Sometimes she sits there and wonders how her life would be if she was one of those cliché women that get married, have kids, spend a lifetime worrying about how to cure their wrinkles, or how to spend money on the latest most sophisticated furniture. One of those women who don't need to think about everything, who don't care why life is like this, who don't mind not ever finding out why the world works a certain way, who just fake a pity grimace when they hear about the misery in which someone else lives. Instead, she's the one who spends most of her nights thinking about others, wanting to learn and to discover everything that's worth being fascinated about, crying about the memories of times that would never return.
"- Rose?" She flinched at the sound of her sleepy husband who interrupted her unending thoughts.
His eyes were barely open as everything started to materialize in front of him. He could now see the image of his beloved wife, sitting on a chair at her desk, holding a ballpoint pen in her left hand. "Isn't she something?" he thought to himself. Everything about her is just so special and unordinary, even the fact that she writes with her left hand. He giggled calmly.
What a feeling it is to wake up still barely awake, and to realize that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, where you belong.
-"I'm sorry to have woken you up darling." She said trying to sound melodic and peaceful.
He did not answer. He just took his two hands and rubbed his face in order to feel more awake. He usually got up at 7:00 am, but he figured that it would not do him any harm to wake up almost an hour earlier today. After all, it was Saturday and he had to go to work at 8:30.
He got up in hasty leap pushing away the bed sheets, dragging his body to the restroom.
As for Rose, she slowly closed the door, and opened her closet to a range of various dresses, skirts and shirts. She has never found comfort while dressed in pants so she has almost excluded them from her dressing choice.
And so, she reached for one of her favorite skirts. The color was a dark grey, and it was so simple and plain that she doesn't even know why it's her favorite.
Then she pulled away a long sleeves shirt since well, it was October.
Her night gown was now lying properly on the bed and her naked skin was now longing for something to be covered with. She put on a pair of black tights on which she slipped the dark piece of fabric.
Fully dressed, she then glided downstairs so she can make some breakfast.
She could smell the loneliness rising as she took one step after another in order to reach the first floor. Her house was far from special; there was the living room, the kitchen, and a bathroom. The undeniable thing is that you would immediately be hit, entering through the front door, by the colorlessness of the whole house. In fact, she did recognize this little detail, but she clamed to be better than to care about what other people thought about her house. She knew it was too ordinary about it, but it was hers, and since when did she ever care about the criticism of people she knew were too trivial to matter?
Once in the kitchen, she boiled some water; now what would it be coffee or tea?