A long time ago, somewhere near the end of the continent, there was an old village that was known by the surroundings for its honorable residents, the most impressive good manners and for perfect compliance with the rules. That village was called Elsiefield and it was controlled by the board of the three elders, who were responsible for laying down new rules and setting penalties to the ones who broke them. They knew better than anyone else the importance to observe the principles and to maintain the welfare.

The residents of Elsiefield seemed pretty happy to live their simple and guided lives. The elders, Boan, Fanri and Eladios, have witnessed the lives and the deaths of many and many Elsiefielders. They understood the manners and the spirits of their children, their pupils. Nobody has ever questioned the established rules because the perfect harmony was something largely praised around those fields.

One day like any other day, Fanri suggested they announced to the whole village during the Spring Festival that the three of them would retire. The plan was to watch what would happen if the village suddenly went out of guidance. What would Elsiefielders do without them? Although Boan and Eladios immediately liked the idea, they were a little bit concerned about the resident’s attitudes towards the new situation. Fanri recognized the risks, but he told them he was pretty confident that their Elsiefielders would maintain the usual harmony while they begged the elders to return. The other two men agreed with the plan. Boan, the eldest of the members of the board, was hopeful that the villagers would reckon him for his wisdom and the long period he has served the council. Eladios presumed that Elsiefield would accept their retirement and demand a new council composed by their three sons Abet, Henri and Lauge, after all he was really fed up with the job. Fanri had a secret agenda himself. In fact he proposed that plan to actually take over the control.

The festival came, the announcement was made and the village panicked. It was like a huge meteor, a tidal wave has come over the Elsiefielders. Some of them were shocked. Some revolted. Some lost. Some even felt lonely. When the sun woke up the day after the Festival, it could only witness pieces of glass, that once stand in the front of beautiful shops, tossed over the streets. All the stores were broken up, the goods stolen. Some of the shops and houses were still being consumed by the fire. It wasn’t known who started it. Debris, corpses laid around the main square that once had seen peaceful villagers. After the whole confusion began, the three elders rapidly escaped to the Council Chamber, at the end of Main Street. The house had a secret passage in the basement only they knew about, so they got into it when the flames started eating the house. Theirs sons were left behind. They remained hidden in the forest for a long time, in the old Mr. Leamn house, the former blacksmith who died two years before.

Days passed, the Elsiefield survivors, one by one, finally came out of their own basements, afraid and hungry. They were finally by themselves, unguided, unruled, free. They looked at the destroyed village, the fire were already gone. As for the deads, nothing else could be done but grieve. A small group started to gather the corpses to properly prepare them for a decent funeral. Another group took care of the debris, sweeping off the dirt, the pain and the shame.

Five residents gathered at the main street started talking about their future, something had to be done for those lost people. Sarah, the former owner of the bakery, spoke to the assembly. They were hoping for directions, for a leader. Sarah told them about the old times, when they were peacefully guided and how badly things turned out to be at the end. She asked for cooperation from all of them, everyone were now responsible for proposing and questioning rules; taking care of each other as well as observing everyone’s compliance with the common values and principles. All of them agreed with her and a meeting was scheduled for the next week, were everyone would vote for a new leader and a group of five councilors responsible for looking for the needs and aspirations of different villagers. The leader and the council would be changed by vote every year to guarantee every villager would be listened.

At last there was a feeling of freedom in the air, a feeling that every need would be taken care of, that finally each Elsiefielder could be heard. And ever since then, that is the way it has been.

Version One:

-          “500 dollars?” Did I hear 500 dollars? – the auctioneer announced on the microphone.

-          “Me.” – the bitch spit it out as a poisonous snake.

-          “500 dollars for the miss over there, number 758”

What the hell that bitch had on her mind? I would literally kick her ass if I got the opportunity! I had to take her down at that moment! That shoes were mine! Jimmy made them for me in the first place!

-            “No way that bitch is going to take my beautiful and exclusive Jimmy Choo’s! It’s mine and I’m going to take it.”

-          “Go for it, darling! It was yours from the beginning.” – Carrie supported her.

-          “Anybody gives more? Anybody” – said the auctioneer, inflaming the little nervous crowd, mostly composed by elegant women in their late thirdies.

-          “I’ll give 550 dollars for it.”

By the moment I yelled it I remembered my bank account, I mean, my negative account. Ok, I shouldn’t spend that much on a single pair of shoes, but those were Jimmy Choo’s for Christ sake! Specifically the ones Jimmy created after we met, using the hints I gave him! It was clear they were made for me and I needed them more than anything.

Version Two:

After a cup of coffee at “The Corner”, Samantha has convinced Carrie to go on a benefit auction in the 4^th Avenue Gallery. She didn’t really want to go, but the friend was insisting so much, telling how it meant for her, that she finally gave up.

When they got there, the place was a little bit crowded already and Carrie detected there were mostly women on the late thirdies on the main room. She could read the banner on the back of the auctioneer. Straightaway she could figure out what they were doing there, Samantha was chasing the shoes she believed were made for her.

Samantha was bidding to win and after a 500 dollars tender, Carrie noticed another woman that was going for the same pair.

-            “No way that bitch is going to take my beautiful and exclusive Jimmy Choo’s! It’s mine and I’m going to take it.” – Samantha enunciated, outraged with the other lady.

-            “Go for it, darling! It was yours from the beginning.” – Carrie said lighting up the fire.

-          “Anybody gives more? Anybody” – shouted the auctioneer.

-          “I’ll give 550 dollars for it.” – Samantha shouted, for Samantha’s surprise.

Version Three:

-          “500 dollars?” Do I hear 500 dollars? – the auctioneer announces on the microphone.

-          “Me.” – the bitch spits it out as a poisonous snake.

-          “500 dollars for the miss over there, number 758”

What the hell that bitch has on her mind? I would literally kick her ass if I got the opportunity! I have to take her down right away! That shoes are mine! Jimmy made them for me in the first place!

-            “No way that bitch is going to take my beautiful and exclusive Jimmy Choo’s! It’s mine and I’m going to take it.”

-          “Go for it, darling! It was yours from the beginning.” – Carrie supports me.

-          “Anybody gives more? Anybody” – says the auctioneer, inflaming the little nervous crowd, mostly composed by elegant women in their late thirdies.

-          “I’ll give 550 dollars for it.”

Oh my god, what about my bank account? I mean, my negative account. Ok, I shouldn’t spend that much on a single pair of shoes, but those are Jimmy Choo’s for Christ sake! Specifically the ones Jimmy created after we met, using the hints I gave him! It’s clear they were made for me and I need them more than anything.

“Indeed I need to chill out a little bit. What the hell, I’ll give it a shot”.  – I convinced myself.

As we arrived at the yoga house I could see the serenity of the place exhilarating. White little rocks formed a path crossing through the front yard, leading to the house and a lot of trees around. Of course I was “lucky” enough to come across a battered car that noticeably has been parked above the beautiful path for the last 20 years, so I had to take my new gorgeous high-heel shoes for a walk over the muddy grass. Well, that would be OK if I haven’t just hit a branch with my head, making a lemon fall miles away off the tree.

“What an adventurous entrée!” – I considered.

We came into the master yoga room and I felt the hot, dense air suffocating me. There were four other students already there and they were squirming in ways I have never imagined anyone’s body could. The teacher, who was skinny as a pencil, was wearing a worn out outfit that was once white. His long and uncombed brown hair was tied in a horse-tail. He handed me a purple smelly mat which I had no idea what to do with. He must have noticed my weird look when I thought “are they brainsick?”

As I’m a very obstinate person (OK, stubborn maybe…) I put down the mat on the floor and hopefully waited for directions. Indeed they came out, it was a sort of:

“Hello everyone, this is a Swasthya (…or whatever) Yoga class, please follow my lead.” – the teacher told us, twirling and bending upon his red stained mat, without further guidance.

He expected us to repeat the exact same movements. At this point my friend and I glanced at each other and the laughs couldn’t be contained. In fact, we couldn’t do anything else but laugh. The teacher gave us a pierce look and we felt compelled to leave the room.  

“Carin! No way would I ever been able to repeat that movement! We’ve got to try boxing next time!!” – I said, laughing as a kid.

Camille was alone in the house at that time, one of that precious and seldom times she has been missing lately. The lights were off, the scented candles were doing their jobs to keep the bathroom comfortable and cozy. That was her refuge, her safe place, where she could worry about herself only.

It has been a tough day at work. Although Bryan and Dr. Miller had not agreed, she has decided to go back to her normal life as fast as she could. The last week has been extremely difficult, forcing herself to recall everything about the clients needs, where they kept the coffee at the office, how to manage the e-mails. Everything seemed to be so new and so old at the same time, since she had been diagnosed with amnesia. Now, every day feels long and painful.

The water was perfectly hot inside the bathtub, the cinnamon oil was exhlating a sweet and reinvigorating scent. The Goo Goo Dolls album playing on the bedroom was a good discovery on her CD pile. Indeed she liked them and that made her feel a little bit more as herself.

Version #2:

I was alone in the house at that time, this was one of that precious and seldom times I have been missing lately. The lights were off, the scented candles were doing their jobs to keep the bathroom comfortable and cozy. This is the only place were I can hide from everyone else and just be me, were I can worry just about myself.

It has been a tough day at work. I know that Bryan and Dr. Miller don’t agree with me getting back to work, but I just want my normal life back! The last week has been extremely difficult, I have to recall everything I used to do: what my clients used to order, where the hell they keep the coffee in the office and how to manage my e-mails. It’s like I knew every of those things, but on the other hand I don’t have a clue how to use them. Since the accident every day seems long and painful.

The water was great, neither scalding hot, nor cold. The cinnamon oil I’ve bougth that day was exhalating a sweet scent, it made me feel like I was able to do anything. I’ve just loved that Goo Goo Dolls CD I’ve found tossed in a pile. Now I know why I really liked that music. 

He was standing in front of the TV, watching the news and taking the same sandwich as the past couple of evenings. The news man was telling the story about a woman whose doctor had given up trying to fight her cancer, but somehow the brave woman found a way to bounce back and smash the very thing was claiming her life.

He found the story pretty nice, some time ago he would even cheered with it, writing to the woman to congratulate her for the victory and spreading the news to all of his friends so they would feel encouraged to fight for something. Not anymore. He wasn’t that kind of person any longer. He could feel the changes in his body, his mind. Not that he doesn’t wanted to be that guy anymore, but the time and the circumstances have finally beaten him.

Sustaining his body weight with the aid of the walking-stick, he got off the chair. The right shoulder burned immediately and he noticed that simple task was getting harder day-after-day.

“After all, I’m lucky Katherine isn’t around to see me like this” – he whispered.

Slowly walking through the hall he went to the kitchen. Hanging on the wall there was the frame that used to display one of his favorite pictures, their trip to Barcelona, Spain. They have had great times on that place and the picture once had a status of treasure in that home. Now, all of was left was an empty dusty frame suspended in an equally dirty wall. The tiles of the kitchen that were once red showed a pale orange now. They were as old as the house and many of them have cracked or presented gray stained circles at this point, because of the use of the walking stick. His blue rubber slippers layed over one of the little stones that came off the tile, hurting his toe.

At that time he felt like doing the dishes, after all, one single plate and a glass wouldn’t justify the use of the washing machine. Although simple tasks like that required some will these days, he couldn’t live with the fact he wasn’t able to do such things anymore. The least he could do was to take care of himself.

“Not that I have anything more interesting to do at the moment, though…” – he considered.

He approached the sink and put down the plate. He sustained his weight into the good leg to get both hands clear. The knee complained a little bit. He rested the walking stick on the right side of the sink and grabbed the detergent. The left elbow, in which he holds the dish burns, is giving sign that it’s not the same anymore.

“At least I’m still capable of doing the dishes” – he appraises himself.

While turning left to store the plate into the cupboard he doesn’t notice the large amount of water laying on the tiles. He treads on the puddle and the rubber slippers slides on it. Suddenly he can’t feel the floor anymore. He tries to reach his stick, failing to help himself out of the hazard. He tumbles with a cracking sound.

Laying on the floor he says in a low voice: “If only I had the same strong legs I used to have I could stand up…” – the voice fainting on the enormous kitchen.

Here you’ll find space to read some of my pieces, comment them, babble, whatever you feel up to.

Join me in this thrilling and misterious adventure!

Michelle Ruiz