Written by Elena Dušak,, 4 th year of the Faculty of Education in Osijek
Inspired by the Nobel prize winner Jon Fosse, known for writing in stream-of-consciousness style.
December hasn’t shown its teeth yet, the trees have yet to let go of the memory of
autumn, I thought how silly it was to hold onto dead things like that, then I thought
about my apartment which was just a ten-minute walk from the city square, and how I
left my favorite lipstick on the table while rushing out, yet the trees aren’t in any rush
and I wished I could plant my roots right there in the middle of the sidewalk and let my
living, breathing body immortalize itself, unable to move, standing still in a place of such
hurry, serene, I got carried away by this passing thought but then I remembered how I
would hate to miss Nancy’s party tonight, she promised to introduce me to her work
colleague and I now more than ever regretted leaving my lipstick alone in my apartment,
luck wasn’t on my side, whatever the inanimate objects do while we get lost in our own
little routines, do they fear the day they will no longer be useful or wanted, or do just
humans have silly thoughts like that, I used to have a lot of silly thoughts, that was of
course before my therapist suggested writing them down on paper, now I just have a lot
silly words taking up space which once was a tree, I really wished then that I could
become an inanimate object, especially when my eyes caught sight of him, right on my
side of the sidewalk, of course sides aren’t assigned and there is really no rule to them,
but I hated seeing him there, in my path, then I thought of my lipstick again and how I
hadn’t looked at myself before going out, our eyes locked first and then came the
awkward smirk, we said our hellos and I wondered if the coffee I drank in the morning
stained my teeth, my fingernails, which were laid comfortably in the pockets of my coat
started digging into my skin and there was nothing that I wanted more at that moment
than to become an inanimate object, he altered his shoulder bag and asked how I was, of
course I would never tell him how I really was, but the question was a formality
anyways, automatic, rehearsed, and I wanted to scream and trash and choke those
words back into him, turn into his shoulder bag and be carried away, thoughtlessly, fine
I replied, what about you, how is your newborn, and this of course was a formality, I
didn’t really want to hear anything about his new life or if he was doing well, did I leave my stove on, I hope my apartment catches on fire so I can once again be warm instead of
being constantly cold and aching, but then my lipstick would melt and I really like that
color, I didn’t hear his answer, my ears were buzzing and my head felt light, I looked
down at his shoes and wished I had been a shoelace, the right one, because he takes
special care when tying it, the left one is always a bit sloppy and this thought instilled me
with a great sadness, I got carried away with this notion and he shook my shoulder
slightly, a great wave of electricity flew through me and I thought of trees and how they
must have felt when being touched by thousands of strangers, all mere blink in their
lifetime, I wrote this off as shock but we would both know this wasn’t true, I’m sorry I’m
going to be late, it almost sounded like a chant, a prayer, begging to be answered, to
what doesn’t really matter, and without waiting for an answer my feet finally found
ground and I begin walking, I’m glad I was not a tree.
