Iris Woke Up

2

Iris gasped for air as she flashed her eyes open. Another ordeal. Odd, graphic and vivid. She settled her back for a minute or two, struggling to catch her breath. Sweat streamed from her warm forehead, her clothes soaking wet.

Inexplicable things appeared again in her dream. She wondered whether there was a way to realise she was in a dream before things get tangled. That way she could control it.

She evoked her childhood dreams.

Along the side of Peter Pan, she flew across Europe. Sometimes she ran from her zombie Grandma who spoke Hebrew. Bizarre dreams. Yet in none of them could she be positive she was not awake.

She sat up and shoved the black curls away from her face. Those were not her parents, but the couple who lived downstairs – in that movie "The ones below". She sighed. A story of a couple who sought to abduct the baby of their neighbours to make up for losing their own child.

Iris shivered at the thought of the horror movie.

Both her real parents had black hair and brown eyes. People assumed they were siblings. The most peculiar thing with couples. People pick partners whose beauty contests theirs, and as a result, they end up with partners who look like them. Iris faced the same issue in her relationship. At first, she thought people did not accept same-sex couples as a default reaction. To her surprise, however, it was because she was dating someone at the same level of attractiveness as her that people mistook them for sisters.

Opposites attract, but similarities bond.

Her parents were both musicians. Violinists in the same orchestra though they met in a different setting; a football game. Aaron went to see the game with his friends. His eyes fell on Samantha. Black hair and skin so pale, so pure, it was nearly transparent. Her veins formed at the opposite part of her elbow. Aaron was a huge fan of smooth and flawless skin.

Samantha had attended the game with her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. She secretly sought to escape it. At the first opportunity, she headed straight towards the exit and into the jazz bar nearby.

Aaron left his friends to follow her into the bar. Back then, those men were romantic. Today they are creepy stalkers.

Iris stood on both her feet. A soft laughter. She removed her wet clothes and used them to mop the sweat from her forehead. She carried herself to the bathroom's cupboard. Towels, toilet paper, creams – there it was, at the back of the cupboard: the thermometer.

Thirty – nine degrees Celsius.

Iris drew her body to the kitchen to brew coffee.

The coffee machine imitated the noise of a rat nibbling cardboard. What she loved most in her kitchen was the piano, right next to the fridge.

The ten-year anniversary gift from her girlfriend. Ten years of harassment, shame and fear. Instead of the respect and endearment they deserved.

She sat on the piano stool, took a sip of her warm coffee, and placed in on the top.

Iris straightened her back. What's happening? Manipulated like a puppet, she could not control her muscles. What does a puppet feel? Her arms before her, arched fingers above the keys and a deep breath.

Do – Re –Mi – Fa –Sol – La – Ti – Do

Do – Re –Mi – Fa –Sol – La – Ti – Do

Do – Re –Mi – Fa –Sol – La – Ti – Do

She played the same notes repeatedly using her left hand. Her right hand rested in midair.

Do – Mi – Sol

Her shoulders softened. Without free will, she nodded, a slight twinkle in her eyes. Then, her arms hang loose. She mastered her own limbs again.

Standing up, she took her cup from the wooden piano. A coffee ring visible where the cup used to be.

'Good job,' she derided. 'Never place warm cups of coffee on wood.'

Without any notice, she spilled her coffee over the piano.

'Not better.' Her voice timid as she sensed something was not right.

She placed the cup on the sink.

Excruciating pain struck at the lowest part of her spinal cord.

'Aaaaargh,' she cried.

Iris fell on her knees at once. She crawled her way out of the kitchen. The bitterness crept up her spine until she stifled. She tried to get up but failed. Her head became heavier as the fever got worse.

Iris submitted to the imperceptible force. She lay exposed on the freezing floor, allowing her mind to gradually submerge into oblivion.