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LITERARY STYLE INSPIRATION: THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

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ROLLING WITH JAMES JOYCE ON AN IRISH HILL

bookish girls

ODE TO THE BOOKISH GIRLS

The wait

wait abbandono“How long are you to wait here?”

I went for a walk in the forest yesterday darling. The villagers are over active these days, what with the coming of autumn and so much fashion, so I headed to the forest for some peace and quiet.

It was a chilly afternoon but I was warm in my long sleeved dress as my smoking slippers skimmed through a carpet of yellow leaves. After walking for a while, thinking about Proust and Eduardo del Mar I found myself in front of a cabin wrapped with thorns and roses with faded petals.

I walked up its stone steps and, turning the door knob slowly, I stepped inside. It was a small room, too small, with grey dust floating about, while the thorns and faded roses were as present here as they were on the outside.

Sitting on a small table was a young woman, with a face that looked as grey as the dust particles floating about. She was donning a floral dress that looked like it had lost its colour with time. Her long black hair was cast over her shoulders and thorns were wrapped around her.

She looked weary despite her youth, and her face looked heavy, despite the lack of wrinkles. She sat motionless, her eyes had not turned towards me when I came in, even though the room looked like nobody had stepped in here for an immeasurable time.

I moved slowly to sit on the one empty chair in front of her. I drew it out and brushed away some of the thorns and roses from the seat before I sat. There was a strong smell of vanilla; its normally sweet smell was a pungent, suffocating scent.

“How long are you to wait here?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Madeliene, you, more than anyone else know that time is relative in the village, so how can I ever tell?”

“Alright then, when will you stop waiting?”

“When the thorns here do not leave an inch for me to breathe.”

I had never felt time move slower than here in this cabin.

“Come with me to the village, autumn in coming.”

“I can’t, I’m waiting.”

 Story credits: Image “Di Foglie” by Stefania Sammarro Ania Lilith Ph.

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