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| My favourite scene from "Battle Angel Alita" |
MY DREAMS
Studying for my finals, I have come across Jorge Louis Borges's strangest theory. Apparently, he used to think of dreams as the primary literary genre, as they combine imagination and impressions of the world. For a while, I have let this idea infest my thoughts. My mental ship has now come to an unexplored shore: why not start using my dreams as plots for short stories? Of course, the stories won't be a perfect retelling of actual dreams- everybody knows Morpheus' little trick of making one sleepy as they listen to somebody's recollection of their nighttime adventures- the most difficult part will be not to force an interpretation on them. I think one of the features that best shows the writer's skills is when stories have multiple meanings. Such a complexity can only be achieved when one drifts away from single-ended interpretations and lets the narration flow without fitting them into one vision of the world. I believe deciphering dreams is enjoyable in its meaninglessness. I will now present to you my first work, as fresh as it can be, as it was inspired by a dream I had last night, its name being the only one possible: the tiger.
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THE TIGER
"I am behind you, I'll always find you
I am the tiger".
-ABBA, Tiger
"The tiger
He destroyed his cage
yes
YES
The tiger is out"
-random poem I found on Pinterest (it says Nael, age 6, wrote it)
How amazing can these annual food fests be? They'll always come around in summer, when the evening is warm and the sun is up late, you'll always find the circus and the band. Right now, I am at one of them, I am enjoying myself, I can see a cup from up here, knowing me I am probably trying out delicacies already. The atmosphere is nice, although I have to say I really thought there would be more people. I wish they didn't choose such a small place, I think it is one of those sad backyards, contented by the inhabitants of the tall buildings surrounding it on every corner. Their fight for it is a mere dispute of power, who would want this damp, grey, concrete square where the sun can't reach? And yet now, with the people and all, it is almost cosy. Not as cosy as the exclusive cafe on the ground floor of the southernmost building. It's one of those with an impeccable quality to it, the one you would pass by on a summer's day like this one and tell yourself you'll be back during the winter to study for your exams. Wide dark oak tables, elegant parchment paper, the barista behind the counter waiting for somebody to enter and corrupt that stillness. It surely is one place that likes to make a show of itself, the broad windows telling you all you need to know about the people inside. Who would be studying at a café on such a sunny day and with a splendid party outside? three to four little pretentious law students, that's who would. I think I know one of them, a girl who would hop on a bus with her curlers still in her hair so she'll get a nice perm by the time we reach our stop, really shows you how much she cares for her little Uni mates' approval, and how unimportant you and the other passengers are to her. And there she is, looking her best with her curled bangs crowned by her headphones, typing something on her computer. A guy is at the other end of the table, probably she is in love with him. I cannot tell by the image, but I know for sure, I can breathe the tension. He thinks her annoying and ugly, impossibly fat for someone still young. At another table, an old man is all alone. If he were their teacher, he would use his sadistic teaching methods on him and try to have his way with her. Instead, he is just sitting there, writing who knows what important document on his computer and judging their young age with his quiet detachment. Everybody thinks they have more rights than others to be there. Everybody else would just feel like choking in that stifling atmosphere; in fact, the whole place from the inside gives a sense of abandonment, and yet, I feel like I should join them, like somehow I belong there. My love, where are you? I am with my boyfriend, but he is making fun of me. I know he is just joking and I decide to act up a bit, I pretend to be mad and I run away, leaving him with a friend of ours. Female friend. Yes, I am jealous of her sometimes, but it will be just for a bit. Let me go and see what other amazing street food they have here. The stands, the carts, the circus animals from a distance, how festive! How joyful! But I am at the coffee shop's entrance. In the back of my mind, I knew I would find myself here. I know how inevitable it was. A bell rings, I open the door, and now I am inside. The three snobs don't even bother to look at me, and the bartender is annoyed. Screw them! I am still at the door, I am looking at them from a distance, I can get out anytime I want. But the door is closed and I don't know what to order. Let me consider for a second: a coffee would make me look cheap, it's not the right time for a cappuccino in Italy, as it is past 5, I am sure of it, and I am sure the pastries are stale, you can sense it from the way the place is managed. Such effortlessness is typical of a place that has all of its pastries industrially produced. But there is no need to choose anymore. From the outside, I hear muffled screams. I turn around, and everybody is running in all directions. The carts are overturned, the food all went to waste, popcorn on the floor and bits of something else completely indistinct. A voice, and then another; "The tiger is out", "She has escaped". The most dangerous animal in the circus, she would easily attack everybody in the area. The steepness of the place is their disadvantage. My love? Where is my love? What if he doesn't make it? I am safe here, and he is out there near Death. For the first time, I am left to consider what I will do for myself if he dies. Please, save yourself, do it for me, I am nothing without you. "We need to let people in", I quickly shout to the others. "No way, it is too dangerous for us". The voice comes from the girl, "At least we will be spared". This time it's the guy. None of them has turned away from their computers. I need to do something quickly, the tiger will get my love and my friends, my only friends. I look at the glass door: the tiger is here. From such a small distance, she is more of a cheetah than a tiger, but when she moves, the black spots on her fur disappear, making her more of a female lion. She is a mix of felines, and she is rather small, but with abnormally big, razor-sharp teeth visible with her mouth closed. A tusk, a prehistoric creature perhaps. Definitely a "she" judging by the size. She is at the door now and trying to smell for meat or blood; she could never take down the door on her own. Nobody bothers anymore. I do what must be done. I open the door and let her in, then quickly close it behind me as I get outside. I let her butcher the people at the cafe within seconds; the narrow space is their disadvantage as well. It is a disadvantage for all. We're safe. All is destroyed, but we are saved; the cheerlessness now is tangible, it is like a carnival outside. The sun shines on the damp backyard. Are we all safe, though? My love, I see you! I cannot imagine what could have happened. I was so scared I felt like I was dying second by second, my heart was so weak it was about to abandon me. What are you doing without a shirt? He shows me his perfectly trained, muscly back. The tiger tried to attack him, and there are deep marks left just below his shoulders. They looked quite unusual: just some dots, as if she had tried not to slay him but to poke his upper back with her claws. There are literal holes; I can see the blackness of that indistinct dark that small holes in the wall usually have, as he moved and arched his muscles, all incredibly defined. I love this man. But it is unusual, almost as if she tried to immobilise him for a moment. I have a feeling I know the cause. I turn him around so that he can face me: "My love, was it that she was trying to...?". He doesn't mind my words, he laughs and looks as if he were ten years younger, with shorter hair, even, as I had seen him in the pictures of his adolescence. All was solved and everybody went home, but I was left with a vague sense of doubt. I mean, why did the beast try to do that? After all, she was a female, and my boyfriend was a male. It was kind of a "feminine" way to be attacked. What I mean is, it was supposed to be... the opposite?
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