Marcadores hechos a mano para mi mamá.

What am I?

What am I?

I’m not questioning my humanity

What am I?

Is my brain, are my thoughts 

What I am?

An ethereal being bound to this body

Encapsulated inside

Am I simply a soul?

My body as a vessel

A ship

Am I memories?

Forgotten when I die?

Do I cease to exist?

Irra Mellos and the Pendant of Heurs; Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The obnoxious, unmistakable beep of the smoke detector woke up Irra from dreams about caves and ancient altars. She swore out loud to nobody in particular. Racing from the couch where she had unintentionally taken a nap, she rubbed her eyes, letting the smell of smoke lead her to the kitchen. She turned the oven off and silently asked it to please not too be mad at her for letting her dinner inevitably burn. The continuous puffs of smoke escaping from all sides told she would not be so easily forgiven.

Tentatively she opened the oven, the rush of excess smoke making her cough and reach for the closest window. Thankful for the lack of fire, she walked around the apartment opening all of the windows and wondering why she hadn’t inherited her dad’s ability to cook or at least absorbed knowledge from any of the cooking shows she left on while she ran around doing other things. Looking in a drawer for oven mitts and realizing she had never bought any after she moved, Irra grabbed a pair of rags she had cut from old towels and braved herself to face what would at one point have been lasagna.

Relieved that most of the smoke seemed to have subsided, she pushed the oven open all the way and reached for the blackened casserole dish, one rag in each hand. The dish had barely made it out past the oven door when her hands realized it was still much too hot and thin rags would simply not be enough. Her hands shaking, the black blob made a huge clatter as it smashed into tiny pieces on the floor. Burnt tomato and cheese painted the sides of the kitchen counters and glass covered the floor. Irra stood still, tears threatening to come out. Dismay at the latest disaster, her throat got scratchy and stepping backwards away from it all, a small piece of glass cut into the bottom of her foot she finally gave in to her crumbling emotional state.

She cried loudly, wishing she was as well put together as her mother had been and blaming the short amount of time they had had for everything that had ever wrong in her life. She thought about all the things she wasn’t and doubted she would ever be a fully functioning adult. Her grumbling stomach a welcome distraction from the pool of self-depreciation, she decided cleaning up before running off to get real food would probably be best.

She doused a rag in water and methodically picked up the larger pieces of glass and tossed them in the trash. Trying to focus on the delicious things she hoped to eat and not the mess that she had created far beyond the realm of her kitchen, Irra swept and mopped, and scrubbed until it resembled the kitchen of someone moderately responsible, as long as nobody opened the fridge, or any of the cupboards for that matter.

She sighed realizing she needed a shower and avoided her gaze in the mirror as she stepped under the steaming hot water. Picking out the most comfortable pair of dark jeans she owned and a plain black t-shirt, she remembered how Miriam had scolded her, last time she wore the same thing.

“All that black makes you look even paler than you are dear!”

“Hey Miriam.” Irra smiled at her landlord in a bright, flowy, yellow top. “I thought you said you had quit smoking?”

“Oh I did! This is one of those electronic vaporizers, a healthy alternative to all that gunk I was putting in me before!” She explained in a thick Jersey accent.

“There hasn’t been anything medical to prove that though I thought.” Irra said questioningly.

“Probably not, but public perception is everything these days.” Miriam coughed. “So long as they let me smoke during bingo on Sundays I don’t really care! Don’t have a whole lot of days left you know? Just want to enjoy them while I can.”

“Don’t say that.” Irra scowled.

“Ah, it’s the truth! When you grow up you stop lying to yourself at some point I think. Well some people do anyway. You’re still young, so I’ll do it for you. Stop wearing all that black! It’s like your mourning for something! I wore black for 52 years after I lost Harry and let me tell you it never made missing him any easier.”

“Miriam, I..”

“I’ve seen how you keep your rooms, you like color!” She continued, placing a hand on her. “Go wear it while you still can! Eventually they see you with too much color and they make all these assumptions about you. Go be young and enjoy yourself.” Miriam was coughing again, unintentionally squeezing Irra’s arm to maintain balance. “Take it from me, even if you go and die right now, there’s no telling how long before you get buried.”

 She smiled thinking about her sweet, old landlord, and how nice it had been having someone who cared about her. Settling on tying her unruly black curls back into a bun, images of her mom in color coordinated cardigans with long uniform curls that always seemed to sit exactly as she wanted, flooded her mind. She double bagged her garbage, afraid the shards of glass would claim any more victims, and put them just outside her door. Irra grabbed her purse and keys, and slammed the door behind her, immediately regretting it until realizing there was no way Miriam had heard her outward expression of frustration.

Downstairs she knocked on Miriam’s door, thinking an offer to take out the garbage would be a great excuse to see her. Maybe even get some of those delicious, peanut butter cookies she always seemed to bake far too many of to eat all by her lonesome. Irra thought herself far too selfless not to help with such a dilemma.

The door opened to a tall blond woman, who Irra could’ve sworn had just finished dancing in the background of a rap video. Black, platform, heeled boots rose to her knees while cheetah print leggings sat just below her waist. A black sequin top that so much resembled a bra, she wondered why anyone would bother to wear one with it, sat under a furry black vest, with layer after layer of necklaces resting against her chest. She wore too much perfume which mixed poorly with the smell of bleach coming from the small apartment. Irra’s smile fell as she thumbed through 2 months’ worth of past conversations, trying to figure out which one of Miriam’s family members this might be or where she might’ve mentioned she was traveling to.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The stranger asked, long pointy nails tapping against the door frame, a cascade of bracelets jingling, clearly annoyed. Irra stood there, words failing her. Ruby red fingertips snapped at her face. “HELLOOO? DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?” She spat loudly.

“Yea. Sorry.” She said, slowly shaking her head, recomposing her thoughts. “Is Miriam home? I just wanted to say hi and take out the garbage.” She spoke cautiously, wondering if it were possible she knocked on the wrong door, regardless of the fact there was only one other door besides her own to knock on in that house.

Blue eye shadow looked her up and down, making her feet shift uncomfortably. “Miriam’s not home. She’s on a long vacation. You can take the garbage out though. One sec.” She clipped.

“I’m sorry. Who are you again?” Irra asked as the woman walked away and around the familiar corner of powder blue painted walls.

When she appeared again, she had what seemed like too many bags to be carrying all at once. “Here you go!” She plopped them outside the door at Irra’s feet. “Anything else?” She asked as she slowly began closing the door.

“When’s Miriam coming back? Who are you?” Irra shuffled to keep the woman in view through the remainder of open door space.

“In a few weeks I think. I’m her niece. Housesitting.” She slammed the door and Irra could already hear the click clack of heels walking away.

“Nice to meet you too.” Irra said sarcastically, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at the door.

 Appalled that anyone related to Miriam could be so rude, she understood why she had never been mentioned over the course of their long conversations. She had never talked about her family either. Dragging the many bags over to the door she wondered how much cleaning the niece needed to have done in order to accumulate 5 bags worth of filth and how Miriam had managed to live in an apartment that had been that dirty.  While she certainly wasn’t the posterchild of Good Housekeeping, even she had standards.  

She took the bags out in pairs, briefly thinking about how much strength the niece must’ve had in order to have carried them all out in one go. Locking the front door behind her on her last trip out, she cursed when a bag got caught in the door and ripped open just enough for a smattering of tomato sauce to land on her jeans. She threw the last bag into the pile by the sidewalk and decided the feeling of impending doom her hunger brought her was more important than looking socially presentable. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gone out in worse. Maybe someone would think it was paint and be impressed with the handiness she didn’t really have.

The board I've created this week :)

The board I've created this week :)

Day late to start, but better late than never.

The board I created this week :)

The board I created this week :)

The board I created this week :)

The board I created this week :)

The board I created this week :)

Board I've created for this week :)

The board I created this week :)

The board I created for this week :)