Postmodern writer Nikola Kitanovic present his postmodern, fiction and realistic and hyperrealistic, neobaroque and postmodern short prose under title: TROJAN.

TROJAN - Short Prose Srpski

TROJAN

I was walking beside myself. The street was warm, full of people and shop windows, and I was eager to see everything. I was not looking at my body and what was left inside it, but I was immersed in the surrounding. I was passing through the people and they did not notice me.

Then I saw you, I was touched by your warmth. My body kept on walking, and I stopped and walked along with you for a while. Only the gods knew how blessed I was by that walk. Then I stopped, I let you go forward and I was looking behind you for a long time.

I was at home. My body was reading the newspapers, getting excited because of the news, getting nervous because of the dirty dishes in the kitchen and helplessly looking for a bottle of beer.

I was sitting back in the chair, still fascinated by the encounter, keeping your smell in my soul. Filled with the touches I imagined you slowly walking down the street. I could recognise every space of yours, your warmth and breath. I didn’t remember your face or your body. If I had been shown a photo of you, I would not have recognised you.

I went out of the house. I left my body to keep on getting nervous – if I had to share the flat and friends with it, I didn’t have to suffer from all its ridiculous frustrations. My body, with all that is related to it, is extremely boring, always complaining of something, always missing something – it’s getting on my nerves. I went to a nearby park, by the river.

All the benches were taken. On one of them, there was a person, alone, curled up in the end of the bench. I sat on the other end. Suddenly I realized that you were sitting between that unknown person and me! I was watching you, but that was air watching the air. I realized that you did not belong to that person curled at the end of the bench. You were just lonely watching the waves of the river.

I could not talk to you, address you, or touch you, because I had left my body at home. I could not see how you looked like, your face, your hair…., because your body had been left somewhere, too. I was just plunging deeply in your cloud, your warmth, and I felt more and more like cuddling.

Two river gulls landed on our bench.

I was talking to you, though I believe you couldn’t hear me. In order to hear, one needs the body, I believed, since I could not hear you as well. I was inventing your questions and answering them.

How old are you?

Fifty five, I answered.

Is that too much?

Yes, that is too much for a man to be loved, I calmly concluded.

That is fair.

Then we were silent for a long time. I didn’t know how old you were. I had a feeling of being caressed and I gave in to that. I was grateful because you were not leaving the bench and I loved you more than the air that I was breathing.

The two gulls were watching us, and I believed they could understand my silent speech.

A letter arrived. My body was opening the envelope impatiently and it found a lot of photos inside. It was excited, almost trembling while touching them, believing that you were on them.

Eventually I also looked at the photos. A wave of pure beauty was flowing through me, purifying me, raising my being and my senses into the state of an angel. I found myself in the field of images, completely giving in. There was someone’s warmth there, someone’s being, amazing, intoxicating, splendid.

But that was not you. I was overjoyed, I was happy because I knew that you lied!

There were more letters coming, with new photos, always with a different person on them. Only the words belonged to your body: seducing, passionately dirty and absolutely exciting for my body. It believed everything, because it felt aroused from them, because they gave it sense, smell of an adventure and call of the youth.

Every time I knew that you were lying. How many bodies did you have? – You wanted me to believe that you had as many as you wanted.

What would I do without your lies, when my soul lives from them, my vanity is fed by them, my body is getting excited by them.

I am happy in advance for all the lies that you will send me.

I could ask:

What do you need me for?

What do I need you for now?

Who are you?

Who am I?

What am I doing here at all?

But I am not asking, I am rather keeping you as the most precious pleasures of mine. I am breathing in the memories of you again and I am listening in myself to your lies that are filling me.

I am breathing in the fire and the gulls.

Either your being has been taken by madness, or you care about me. If it is madness, let it be, I enjoy it.

The fact that you are sending the photos of other people tells me that you want to get me excited; you think that your body looks worse than the photos of other people’s bodies.

So, I have a chance because you think that I should be seduced!

I am grateful for you lies a million times, because they talk about us; they talk about you, but they also talk about me.

10.

You will keep on trying to seduce me with lies, and I will always love you like the grass loves the morning dew. The two fires are clear here like our two gulls:

I know that there is someone who cares about me

I know that there is someone whom I love.

That is enough to me.

Fragrances Final, postmodern artwork by artist Nikola Kitanovic

Tags: short prose, postmodern short prose, fiction short prose 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, the Trojan, Trojan prose, short prose Trojan, postmodern short prose Trojan, Trojan story.