One My Short Story                                                                Serbian

Today I woke up a little later. In such cases, I knew, I would have pain in my head, spine and bones and sickness in my stomach. However, I felt good, fresh and strong. I was just afraid: if I get up I could spoil that good feeling. Finally I decided to get up. I almost jumped out of bed, I was moving easily and I was full of energy. I walked into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and at first I thought it was a mistake, but then I realised that it was really me. I looked as if I were twenty-something – more than twice younger! I finally pulled myself together, got ready and went back to the bedroom. I was searching through the wardrobe to find what to put on. I saw a pair of colourful youthful boxer shorts – well, that fitted me now! I decided to stay at home all day long, in the boxers, satisfied with my appearance.

I opened the living room door, walked in and heard a round of applause - a standing ovation. I was on the stage. I was not wondering why I was there and how that was possible, but I moved towards the middle of the stage determinedly, followed by continuing applause. I approached a table under the beam of light, where there was a small hand saw. I took the saw, pressed it to my neck and turned it on. I was slowly cutting my head off. Finally the head fell into my left hand. I put the saw back on the table, took my head with both hands and lifted it into the air. This caused excitement in the audience. I slowly went down the stairs to the front row. I approached one lady and gave her my head, asking her to hold it facing the stage, so that I could see the rest of the show.

My body, without the head, returned to the stage. I raised my hands in the air and bowed while the audience applauded almost frenetically. From the bottom of the stage a girl in transparent leotards appeared and my body moved towards her. She climbed up the high ladders onto a small platform, from which a rope was stretched to the other part of the stage and another small platform. She was skilfully and slowly walking on the rope. My body followed, a little clumsy, but very persistently and determinedly.

We both reached the second platform. She closed the curtains around it so that the audience could not see what was happening on the platform, but they could guess. Her hand threw her tights over the curtain, and they were slowly falling to the ground. Then her hand held my boxers above the curtain and waved them. The crowd was shouting: “Yes!”

Finally the audience went totally crazy, merging with the rhythm of the music and the light show on the stage. A young woman in the second row grabbed my head from a lady in the front row. Then a scramble for my head started, people were grabbing it from each other and so it was passed from one row to the next, towards the end of the room. When the curtain opened, my head was in the last row. The girl on the platform pushed my body and it fell down to the stage, and the woman who was holding my head in the last row, threw it behind the line. My body got up and went off the stage to the last row. In the dark, behind the last row, it felt my head, put it on and I was whole again. I headed for the door, opened them, but I looked back and saw that there were new performers on the stage now. I went out of that room and I realised that I was in my living room again.

I felt pain in my neck, head and bones, and sickness in my stomach. I was moving with difficulty. I did not dare to look in the mirror, as I knew that my old age was back. I spent the rest of the day opening and closing the doors, hoping to get on the stage again.

 

Translataion from Serbian to English Eagle Aigle

© 2011 Nikola Kitanovic, All rights reserved 

Tags: post modern story, postmodern prose, postmodern writer, story, story online, new story, conterporary story, fiction story, new fiction prose, realistic story, new realism, neorealism, hyperrealism, hyperrealistic story, neobaroque prose, neobaroque story, neobaroque fiction