Dragonfly

Her eyes drooping with sleep, she got out of bed in her first attempt. Last night had been crazy. The apartment was now spinning fast with squares of bright light flashing her with devotion. She sat down and put her head under her knees. It didn’t help. As she made the fourth attempt to get up and fetch water, somebody had discovered the door bell and was going at it enduringly. She looked at the rusty old clock she had inherited from her great grandmother. 11 ‘O’ Clock. Over the years she had learnt to neglect the growing archaic den her apartment had become. The dust didn’t bother her anymore because they came with the things that were handed down to her, from a generation of people that kept things, too many things in the places they breathed and ate.

She recognized the woman at her door from the bag she was carrying. Our woman had been glaring at the bag all of last night, trying to identify the brand from the spectacular distance that had separated them and over all the tall glasses and the noise around them. It took her a while to recollect the name of the place they had seen each other at. Roofies? Floories? Gloria’s?

– ‘I saw you at Dragonfly last night’, said the guest, even as her host squinted her eyes into tiny round balls.

-‘Oh, yes! What can I do for you’?

-‘I came here to tell you to leave him the hell alone. I saw you glaring at us last night and he’s quiet upset’

‘But – I, wait, who are – ‘

‘I only came here to tell you that. Good bye’

As she saw the woman hurry past the gate and into the car, she wondered if she should run after her and demand an explanation. But she was too hungover to do that or the next sane step, which was to call Aaquil and ask him if he had any idea what this meant. She would have dragged herself back in but her silk robe got caught in the giant cactus that stood next to the door. She cursed and nearly died of exhaustion trying to rescue the robe without perforating holes in them. Unlike everything else in her apartment, this robe she was rather fond of. She wore it every night and never washed it. Her friends never got why she complained so much about all the antique hand me downs she had acquired.

She had always wanted to design her own place to her own taste when she got it. But because it took so long to figure out what her taste was like, her family had decided that the empty spaces in her apartment looked ugly and that it was the best home the family collections could ever get. So at the far end of the apartment stood a giant mahogany cot that was obscenely polished and seemed to hurt most eyes because of ugly carvings of goats and grapes at all four ends of the cot. She had done her best to hide the carvings and finally decided that wet towels do the trick. A grotesquely huge bookshelf stood at the other end of the apartment which looked rather embarrassing because she had owned only 2 books in her life and read one. The bookshelf had slowly become home to assorted key chains and jewelry and currently displayed all of the 80 sandals she owned.

A tall coat hanger stood to the door’s left. It was a naked woman with bulbous breasts that her friends sometimes used to hang their bags on. This piece belonged to her perverted uncle whom the family eventually disowned but chose to keep all of his furniture.

She forgot all about the bizarre conversation as she curled into her bean bag and slept until the doorbell rang again. This time it was him. She knew this because she had suddenly realized who the bag woman was talking about.

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