I haven't been writing for so long. I decided to just start writing and see where will my mind and words bring me. They brought me to a long, long story which will be posted in series of fragments.
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Išla je mokrim ulicama uspavanog grada. Kiša je opet padala. Nije imala kišobran, uvek zaboravi da ponese kišobran. Kosa joj je bila mokra a niz njen zeleni kaput se slivala voda. Bilo je i dalje prilično rano kad je stigla na stanicu.
Bilo joj je drago što se sklonila od kiše. Kupila je kafu, a onda je dovukla svoj mali kofer do jedinog slobodnog mesta za sednje i započela svoj još od detinjstva omiljeni ritual.
Postmatrala je ljude. Iako se još nije ni razdanilo, stanica je bila puna. Primećivala je način na koji hodaju, da li su im pokreti odsečni i nervozni ili opušteni, kako se oblače, gledala je njihov govor tela dok se obraćaju drugima i zamišljala kakav život vode.
Ispred nje je sedela devojka koja je izgledala iznervirano. Bila je obučeno u crno od glave do pete. Čak su joj i nokti bili nalakirani u crno. Imala je oštre crte lica i izgledala je kao lisica. Samo joj je kosa bila boje meda, u mekim loknama. Kuckala je nešto na svom telefonu (crnom, ako ste sumnjali).
Volela bi da veruje da je devojka skriveni tajni agent, ali zapravo je verovatno samo jedna od mnogih zaposlenih mladih ljudi koji su morali da odu daleko od kuće da bi im se uopšte pružila prilika da budu prezaposleni. I sad živi na relaciji između dva grada, a nije ni tamo ni onde. Da li više pripada igde? Bilo bi joj lakše da je tajni agent.
Malo dalje je sedela žena u srednjim godinama. U licu je bila pomalo sivkasta ali joj je kosa bila savršeno isfenirana i bila je u elegantnoj i svedenoj odeći. Imala je karirani kišobran u ruci i noktima (lepo izmanikiranim) je nervozno lupkala po njegovoj dršci. Pored nje je bio momak (njen sin?) koji je imao isti nos kao ona. On je imao i zelene oči i dugačke trepavice i sivi šal i ruku u zavoju. Pospano je gledao u daljinu.
Kuda su se oni zaputili? Sudeći po količini kofera, negde daleko.
Pored nje je sedeo star čovek, skitnica. Bio je umotan u nekada braon kaput, star i pun rupa. “Imaš li cigaretu?” pitao ju je, prekidajući njen tok misli.
“Aha.” (Nije volela da priča dok je posmatrala, to je ubijalo draž. A i ne možeš baš da zamišljaš kakav život ljudi vode dok pričaš o nekim desetim stvarima)
Svojim kratkim i debelim prstima je uzeo cigaretu, a upaljač je izgleda već imao.
Otpuhnuo je dim i uputio joj osmeh pun iznenađujuće belih zuba.
“Hvala.”
“Nema na čemu.”
“Mogu li da te pitam nešto?”
Nije želela da razgovara sa skitnicama. A ni sa bilo kim drugim. Želela je da sedi na neudobnoj klupi, pije svoju kafu i da se utopi u okolinu. Da je niko ne dira. Da bude deo nameštaja.
Ali bila je suviše fina da ga samo izignoriše, a i bilo joj je žao.
“Aha.”
Još jednom je otpuhnuo dim i, ne okrećući se ka njoj, krenuo da priča.

(Odlomak romana koji nikad neću napisati - deo prvi. Ostatak očekujte uskoro)

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She was walking down the wet streets. The city was still asleep. It was raining again and she didn’t have the umbrella, she always forgets to bring the umbrella. Her hair was soaking, as well as her green coat. It was still quite early when she arrived on the station.
She was glad she came inside, where it wasn’t raining. She bought coffee, dragged her little suitcase to only available seat and started her favorite ritual since childhood.
She watched people. It was still dark outside, but the station was full.
She was noticing the way they walk, talk, if their moves are relaxed or nervous, how they dress, their body language when they’re talking to others. She loved imagining their lives, what is their story and what do they dream about.
In front of her was sitting a pretty annoyed girl. She was wearing black from head to toe. Even her long nails were black. She had sharp features and kinda looked like a fox. Only her hair was honey blonde, soft and curly. She was looking at her phone (also black, if you wondered).
She wanted to believe she was a secret agent or something interesting like that. Truth was probably that she was just one of the too busy young persons, who had to leave their home to be given the chance to be too busy. And she was probably living in 2 cities, but she doesn’t belong to any of them anymore. Maybe it would be easier to be a secret agent.
Near her, there was middle aged woman. Her face was grey-ish but her hair was perfect and she wore elegant and classy clothes. She was tapping nervously on her big plaid umbrella with her perfectly manicured nails. Next to her there was a guy (her son?) who had the same nose as her. He also had green eyes and long eyelashes and grey scarf and broken hand. He stared at the distance sleepily.
Where were they going? According to number and size of their luggage, somewhere far away.
Next to her was an old man, a tramp. He was wrapped in an old coat that used to be brown, but at that point color was undefined. “Do you have a cigarette?” he asked, interrupting her line of thought.
“Yeah.” (She didn’t like to talk when she was observing, she couldn’t enjoy it as much. And you can’t really imagine how people live when you talk about some other things).
He took the cigarette with his short and fat fingers. He already had the lighter, He breathed out the smoke and smiled at her with his surprisingly white teeth,
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can i ask you something?”
She didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone else, for that matter. She wanted to sit on this uncomfortable bench, drink her coffee and pretend she’s part of the background. To be left alone. To pretend she’s part of the furniture.
But she was too nice to ignore him, and she fel sorry for him.
“Yeah.”
He breathed out the smoke once again, and, without looking at her, started talking.
(Fragment from a book i’ll never write - part 1. Part 2 coming soon.)

Other stories: Mr. Nobody • 2084.
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