Be free

A man pushed the array of handwritten papers and photographs to the edge of the weathered table. Moving slowly, as if held down by invisible muck, he retrieved a yellowed glass box from the side of the room, long absolved by darkness. Not a single roach had rustled in vast rooms of once glorious apartment, not a single spider had remained in long forgotten corners, leaving behind intricate fringes of lacy webs to collect dust and desolation. Only the restless, ghostly Echo still roamed here, tormented by the stuffiness of rooms, filled with decaying antiquities. It devised a game: Echo mimicked the hollow sound of water drop, playfully flicked the tin pan, resonated onto the gilded edge of a wood carved mirror, sticking out from underneath a filthy cloth and... died off reaching the end of the wavelength. "Good effort!" Re-assured itself Echo- "Maybe next time I can shoot further, behind what used to be the bedroom, maybe.. just maybe, I can stretch the soundwave past the velvet baldachin of his odious bed and then.... I can reach the window and break free!" But every time the heavy folds of thick velvet would gently embrace Echo, hollowly absorbing it. And sedated, Echo dwelled in plush prison, lulled to sleep by the whispers of creasing fabric.

The man shuffled through the tumble weeds of empty rat nests, not bothering to push clumps of piss soaked, yellowed newspaper out of the way. He placed the box under the halo of the lamp, and the baccarat cut glass readily refracted the light. Awoken, it hungrily grabbed the photons, stretching them into quaint colors: Not having been touched for decades the glass box thought that, yet again, a bright Sunday morning has come, bringing the time of prayer. It readily opened its hinges to demonstrate the miniature ivory statue of Virgin Mary, resting on its dusty red, velvet tongue. Instead of the familiar shape of the figurine, however, the glass box discerned metallic flavor of small, heathen object, shaped like a commoner heart. Aggravated by such sacrilegious switch, and absence of Mary, the box promptly shut it's offended jaw on the man's finger. "Hmmmmpff?" Coughed up the confused man. "Hmmpf!" Cut off agitated glass box and screeched the hinges offendedly. Indeed, inside the depression, where Mary was once idly lying about, for six days a week, rested an old silver locket. It contained a lock of copper hair, neatly tucked in a coil and spritzed with perfume. With a withered hand, unsteadied by a sorrowful memory, the man brought the locket to his face. It smelled of salty air, moved about by centenary cypresses. It reminded him of sun-heated sand and budding roses on the day when he first kissed Anna-Lise. The man whispered: "How saddened I am, that I am not with you, how happy I am that you are not with me" And two silver trickles of salty memories rolled down his dusty face.

A gust of hot wind blew the windows open, creating a scorching draft, and the startled man knocked down the glass box onto the tiled floor. It bounced, waking and quivering the air and the eager Echo pounced on the opportunity: It picked up the resonance and rippled it through the room, carried it to the mercury mirror, where it wobbled on the surface and reflected straight through the bedroom. And in a lightning-hot moment that fused past and present together Echo remembered what had created it: "A beautiful woman, with auburn hair is carrying a miniature carved statue to the little altar. She is supporting her belly, humming a long-forgotten lullaby, a wondrous melody of distant lands. She makes a careless step and her foot is caught in the treacherous heavy folds of velvet baldachin, snaking down from the canopy of carved wooden posts. She falls, releasing the ivory embodiment of her hopes onto the tiled floor." This time Echo darted under the monolithic bed, swooped by the ivory shards, catching the draft out, and liberated it cried: "Be free, Arturo!"

Arturo looked into the open window. A field, that once bore lush lavender bushes was now a barren desert, where blistering winds turned sand into shards of glass. The spine of horizon, once surrounded by chain of emerald cypresses now had disfigured, petrified tree trunks protruding as far as they eye could see. Arturo looked around his dwelling - a disheveled still life, mirrored in every item he once thought had value. He downed the last reserve of water, squeezed the locket in one hand and brought the lighter to the curling wallpaper with another. "Be free, Anna-Lise, I hope to see you soon".