Grey skies. Grey sidewalk. Grey pigeons that peck the garbage on the streets. Grey people that mind their own business. And I am as grey as all of them. Lost in the millions of silhouettes and flying feathers.
Our town is small, polluted, and cramped to the point you suffocate. Tiny, narrow lanes are always full of teens: smoking cigarettes and running on garage rooftops. The town is always full of smog or some other noxious chemical to suck out all the color from the city.
My red sneakers flash between concrete porches and lavish boots that pass me by. Some small kids look at me in fear, hiding behind their mother's legs. Others make strange faces and whisper obscenities under their breath. I put my hands in my hoodie's pocket and stick long, thin fingers together to get warmer.
The black hoodie doesn't protect me from the cold winter wind, making me shiver as if I'm in Antarctica. My stomach painfully growls and I begin to regret leaving my breakfast at the cafeteria. Though, I'd better be left with no breakfast rather than being everyone's laughing stock.
I suppose Nelly, our best student in the Biology department, really had to let her curiosity get the better of her. During the break, I had gone to unwrap the bandages on my arms after noticing a reddish stain spreading. And you know Nelly, she's all so courteous and curious: the best student of the year.. A nosey asshole.
I chose specifically the darkest corner in the hallway. She still saw the content under the bandages, judging by how much her face changed the second I turned around. She gasped and turned pale like a bed-sheet, running back to her friends. In just a few seconds, they turned into a group of trees whispering in a grove, and I realized it was better to flee before the whole university will know.
A gust of wind blows long bangs off my face, exposing my right eye to the whole world. For a moment, I feel as if I forgot how to see the world with two eyes. I stop for a second while there's no passersby and look up: watching the grey skies frown and getting ready to cry rain. I snort, shivering from the cold again, then return the bangs to their rightful place in front my eye and keep walking.
When the light-beige brick building of the dorm emerges on the hazy horizon, it's already raining in full. I hurry in through the green entrance door with a quiet creak.
A round, ginger cat jumps from the windowsill the second he sees me, as if waiting only for me to come. He circles around my legs and purrs. Each pass by leaving his ginger fur on my jeans. The dorm owner's favorite cat: Loaf. He's lived here ever since the dorm was just a residential building, and therefore was quite old. However, his youthful mischief had stayed with him over the years.
I hardly make it over the affectionate lump and disappear into the elevator that came right on time for once. The fragile, metal doors close with a cursed screech, and it carries me to my floor. In less than a minute, I'm already starting to choke on the perfume lingering in the elevator. The second the doors open, I hurry out into the hall and safely disappear in my room.
Too lazy to turn on the light, I feel my way through the empty cans of energy drinks lying on the floor. I squeeze past the swivel chair on the opposite side of the room and fall to my bed. It takes me a few minutes to calm down and relax; hiding my face in my hands. Nothing bad happened. Even if everyone knows now. Even if they're going to judge.
I sit like this for some time before going to the large window beside my bed. The window frame creaks disgustingly in protest as I open it; letting the wind into my room. Usually in the dorms, apart from the window leaf, nothing should be able to open. However, in my case, the building became a dorm only a few years ago.
My next stop is the bathroom. Aka the only place in the room that has a mirror. I take off the hoodie that feels so rancid and toss it into the laundry basket. What's left is a grey tank. Each arm wound carefully with layers of tight bandages. Some of them are old enough to become uncomfortable to wear. Others have this rusty-brown color of parched blood. I sigh and start to carefully take them off. The old scars still ache and I frown when the old bandage won't come off my arm.
A long snake of blood-rusty yellow bandage curls into coils; as if finally getting some well deserved rest. I hiss aloud as the cold air tickles my arms. I look into the mirror, moving the hair bangs from my face to stare upon my reflection. I've been ashamed of my right eye ever since I can remember.
I look at myself like that for some time. I do that quite often to remind myself what I am. Soon, not without struggles, I manage to change the bandages and return to my bed once more. Before falling into the bed itself, I grab a fresh pack of cigarettes from the shelf above it. I stare at it for some time; just examining the letters and words. Tired and empty, I return to the opened window.
It's supposed to be a room for two. Two beds, a bathtub, and a tiny corner that I use for the kitchen that I prefer to call a kitchen nook. However, among the university students, no one wants to live with a guy like me. So even better for me, it will be more pleasant to die in silence and loneliness.
The wind is merciless today. It crawls under my tank, making me shudder from the cold. Though, I remain sitting on the windowsill lighting up a new cigarette and watching the flame from my lighter dance. A thin, curly smoke fills the room, giggling like a little ghost, before silently getting carried away by the February breeze along with dirty pigeon feathers. It never snows here. Or rather, it would be more correct to say, it never snows here the way it's worth to watch it snow.
So I sit in silence and smoke, peering into the pre-sunset skies and the darkened buildings. Sunsets here are never beautiful, just plain yellow skies. Mostly they're obscured by smoke or clouds. I'm on the verge of falling into my bed and falling asleep. Or even watching boring TV in the kitchen nook until I pass out. What suddenly stops me is a knock.
"Eugene!"
Mary. Once a month she comes and asks for the keys or an extra charge if my room doesn't look good. I raise my eyebrows for a second then pretend I do not hear. I'm so done with this old bitch that the best thing to do is to avoid her.
"Eugene, I know you're there! Come out! Now!"
YOU ARE READING
My city is grey as dove's feather
Historical Fiction"You didnt fall in love with this city, but I fell in love with you." 1990s. Twenty-years old Eugene Nightingale believes that there's no way he can escape his colorless city, where everyone minds only their own business. He thinks that life has no...
