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* * * Martin Zlatev Blue candy for the boy, pink candy for the girl. "Where are my glasses, dear?", the voice of the husband, fawning over the wife. A smile. "I don't know, dear!" A smile. "Maybe you've left them in the kitchen!" A smile. "Yes, I'll check." "Oh, I found them! Here, on the table! You, red-rimmed, plastic glasses of mine; one diopter on the left, 1.5 diopters on the right, hyperopia! How could I have forgotten you!" Smiles, smiles, smiles ... In a home with sparkling mineral water running from the faucets, large windows, for plenty of sunshine; bran for breakfast (beneficial for the intestines); smiling photos on the shelf above the fireplace; whitening toothpaste; "Children, where should we go on vacation this year?"; a lawn with a lot of grass, a porch without grass, with a lawnmower on it; taxidermic owl in the dining room, ("Now, what a story I've got to tell you!"); clouds like cotton; sky like silk. Everybody gathers for dinner. Mustard greens salad, TV shows with romance, comedy, and African wildlife. "Mom, what are the strange animals on the screen?!?" "Oh, these are giraffes, with spots on their pelts and long necks, to see far away!" "Let's get a pet giraffe at home." Smiles, smiles, smiles. Cheerful winks exchanged, how smart our kids are. "Will you help me with my train, daddy?" "Of course, my boy!" "My first period, mom!" "Of course, my girl!" Birthdays with balloons, cake and candles. Easter with eggs, Christmas with a tree, lights on the tree, presents under the tree, smiles in front of the tree. Inhabitants of a home, who's heads are filled with images of paradise like a color cartoon, where the souls are reclining on pink cotton candy, drinking nectar and eating cookies made with honey. A never-ending disco, where you never tire, and everyone is dancing to their own music. I need nothing more. Only the happiness to chirp like a lemon-yellow canary in a cage, across from the taxidermic owl in the dining room.
© Martin Zlatev, 2003 Текстът печели второ място на конкурса за кратка проза на Erunsmagazine и LiterNet 2003. |