3.10.2013

Being dead smells like brown colour





She had died looking at the ceiling. Her left eye was full of frozen tears and it looked like a bad wizard's eye. A big beetle was running crazy up and down the ceiling riding a small old bicycle, as if it couldn't decide whether to have a free fall on the dead woman's mouth or to shrug in a quiet deserted wall corner.


''Oh my the dead woman thought ''I can't move! That's what death is about? Just not being able to move?''
And she wanted was to laugh but she couldn't. Her lips were cold and frigid and her right hand was lying in an eternal dancing pose over her head. The white creased pillow was hugging her neck tenderly as a devoted friend.



"But, I like this ruby red blanket more'' she said to herself and tried to remember the deep luscious colour of the bed cover because she was in such a position that it was impossible for her to turn her head and just have a look at it. However, she could see just a little piece of it, her eye was still able to capture some of the red colour.


"I will be buried under the soil''


The idea crossed her mind suddenly and if she weren't dead she would be so upset that she would get up and open all the house windows, as she always used to do when upset.


Nice soft wet soil? Or rough, rocky soil full of tiny little stones? Would the soil enter her nostrils? Would it cover her eyelids? Or it might even stuff the cavities of her ears. But she would be buried in a coffin and this was a comforting thought because definitely she didn't like the idea of soil covering her face and body.' 'Yes..a nice wooden coffin which can protect my sensitive body areas, I can think many of them. I am full of sensitive body areas''
Ignatio used to caress her eyelashes with his long fingers before sleeping, when they were younger. This was one of her sensitive body areas which made her shiver with delight. Her breath was gurgling with deep pleasure into his ear which was one of his own sensitive body areas.



What if her family decided to make her funeral on a rainy day? It would be better, because she liked mud. Heavy mud would cover the coffin lid and if she was lucky enough she would be able to smell the heavy brown color. Being dead, smells like brown color. She had always had the ability of sensing the smell of colours. The grey walls of her room had the smell of a wild Norwegian sea, the white sheets on her bed smelt like a burning fluorescent lamp and the crimson blankets were the steep cliffs of a smouldery canyon.
She sighed deeply but then she remembered that she wasn’t allowed to sigh so she only left herself fall deeper into the canyon. And the beetle was waiting there, she rode on the back of its bike. So all someone can guess, is that she is still riding along with the beetle in the valley of death, as poets say. Beetles riding rusty bikes, had been living in the darkest spot of her eyes’ pupils, since she was a little girl.

image: Christian Schloe

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