Cobblestone Steet

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. With a big sigh, he raised his heavy eyelids to look outside the window with the diagonal iron bars. The bare branches of the trees stripped of all their leaves were growing heavier with the weight of snow on top of them. It felt as if it had been hours since he had a chance to look away from his little homework notebook - to the point that he could not remember having sat down. The letters had mashed into an incomprehensive whole, yet somehow he was sure the work was satisfactory enough to pass the fleeting scrutiny of the teacher who ran the routine checks on all the children’s notebooks.

Now another challenge lay in front of him. He would have to go from the cozy kitchen, where a fire had been lit, and his grandparents were watching television, to his freezing bedroom where the notion of inside and outside was blurry. That single convertible couch awaited him like a sheet of ice, to welcome his warm body and wrap it up in the harshness of the winter. He hesitated, but he knew that the longer he waited and the sleepier he got, the more challenging and rude the inevitable awakening would be. So he said goodnight with half a voice and made his way to the corridor. The diagonal iron bars left a shadow on his cheek as he rushed through. He could not race away the freezing temperature, still he jumped inside the bed, throwing the covers on him, as if burying his body in snow.

His senses were heightened, his breathing heavy with fumes and his mind active anew, just like before he began writing his homework. He forgot the subjects he read about and most certainly forgot what he wrote, but that mattered little. A bunch of books were by his side on an old, poorly painted wooden chair, standing next to his nose. The same titles that had been there for years, always promising to read them, but never getting himself to do so.

From his window, the cobblestone street laid silent, and the little gray spots of rock were being covered by snow. He closed his eyes firmly, trying to drift away again to that feeling of peace and warmth that captured him in a state of sleepiness a few moments ago when slowly the wind crashing into the cobblestone began to whisper. You must know surely that rocks cannot communicate, however the whispering message did not appear strange to the kid, he might as well have heard the voice of his neighbour speaking. “Left ppssssss… left you did..” the snake-like hollowing wind was saying. The boy had never heard this before, but somehow the situation seemed familiar, as if this was part of his nightly routine, like wearing your pyjamas.

Anyway, he could not focus on that he had to go back to sleep, otherwise he was certain that he was bound to have a very rough morning. However, the more he clinched his eyes, the louder and more forceful the whispering became… “leefffttt.. Ssss.. you left”.

The cold and the snaky wind, forced him to get out of the still cold bed and approach the frozen window. He looked outside and thought that it was a strange wind. He could hear it, but the snowflakes were still dropping down straight as if not affected by it. He opened the window bracing for impact. The atmosphere was still and surprisingly dry for the weather that surrounded him. No lights in the houses nearby. In front of him a high building under construction reminded him of the old couple that used to live there. They left, and now they were building a new place, to be inhabited by strangers that he had never met before. The other houses on the narrow street were very much like his own. Two stories, with a typical brown roof and small concrete gardens. He was surprised there was no one drunkenly walking home and that no window was flashing with the TV flickers reflecting on them. People must have gone to sleep… odd, he was the first to go to bed every day around eight, he loved early nights.

This stillness had to be enjoyed, so he jumped out of his window as he had done numerous times and started walking on the cobblestone. There, where he kicked his ball next to the wall as he had no friends to play with - in the same road where he imagined that the flickering of the street lamps signified magical creatures approaching and where he felt familiarity beyond any other place on the whole plane - which as he had learned in the class of geography, was very vast indeed.

How strange it was that he had passed the day walking up and down this narrow street running errands for his grandmother, buying snacks and books for himself, yet he felt like an old man that just had returned home after decades. A sense of relief and quiet captured him and the wind had turned silent… all the better. A half-torn newspaper was travelling with the wind announcing political events, but before he could reach it, the paper flew away in a burst. He only glimpsed the word “transition”.

He continued going up and he thought he might run to his classmates house and see if he is sleeping there by any chance, as this was his grandfather’s residence and he did not stay there all the time. He ran there and as he approached the house, he immediately knew it was empty. Empty in a profound and most literal meaning. The building looked like a prompt from a movie, there was no soul, no energy, the kind of sensation you get from walking next to someone’s home was absent - the place might as well have been a statue.

Just as he was thinking this he realised he had to run back home before they noticed his absence. He kept walking, looking left and right to avoid any prying eyes, but he realised everything was empty and immobile. He ran to his window and was shocked to find it closed. Tried to push it open thinking it was just the wind that made it so, only to realise it was impossible to make it budge. To make matters worse, his arms were beginning to get weary and as if in a dream he could not find the strength to knock on the window. He thought he could hear the TV sound from the kitchen and the heavy breathing of his grandparent from the corridor, but he had no willpower to shout and make his presence felt. He tried, but the notes were stuck in his throat and the knuckles of his fist were suspended halfway into their trajectory into hitting the glass. The snow intensified, he could feel the flakes covering and burning his cheeks with a speed that resembled rain… grand-paa-puaaa.. He tried to scream but to no avail. He was stuck, locked out of his world, condemned not to be able to return, wondering what curse had him bound in immobility. He closed his eyes!

With a sudden burning feel, the man’s eyes opened wide, panicking and moving frantically as if to encourage the lungs to inhale air. A big deep breath allowed him to look around and accustom himself to his surroundings. Tears were flowing freely from his eyes and he was shaking. He was in his underwear and there was barely any daylight, but he could feel the heat from outside. Next to him, a person in deep sleep… took him a few seconds to recognize his wife and to start returning to his reality. He was not in control of his faculties, as some part of him was still weeping the loss of his home, family and all that he knew as a child… the tears kept flowing. He sighed… it hadn’t snowed in years where he lived now….