“Could he have been there?”
Or maybe not.
Was he?
Such questions kept lingering in my head, traveling the whole nervous track beginning from the hypothalamus to the delicate posterior medulla, until I’d reached the tiny door on the first floor. The wooden sandals I knew weren’t there, breaking my thoughts for a minute. It was terrifying but so was everything going on. The distinguishing was impossible more the less the variation.
“May I come in?’, I asked again before the door came open. She was in a short skirt, her collars pulled to the knees, like the usual though the hair remained in a pony, one she despised like her old stories of how the monster in her dreams would tie her hair.
“You can if you want to”
The door was supposed to let me in, so I did.
The room reminded me of an
