The white wall - Aitan Bagirova

Aitan Bagirova

The white wall

1

“You are not of this world!” the mother exclaimed after what had happened today. Psyche again plunged into a soul blizzard and felt all the suffering that brings her everything what is outside of her consciousness. She closed the door of her room and decided to enter the dream world as soon as possible. Her room was simple and bright, with white walls that gave no hint of heroes or idols in her life. And to make it easier to sleep, she always opened the window.

Purity. Freshness. Simplicity. That's all she accepted and loved. But, unfortunately, all her efforts to bring a little piece of light to this world were not always crowned with success. It is not inherent in her to pass from one state of mind to another in the blink of an eye. She believed that such a quality in a person as flexibility, especially in such cases, is equivalent to such qualities as hypocrisy and spinelessness.

She couldn't sleep, and as usual, she was thinking and reflexing for a long time. And it seemed to her that everything was ephemeral, except for her eternal reflections, which brought her both the slightest notes of self-knowledge and a flurry of mental agony. And as always, she remembered the most vivid moments of the past day. Namely, the same poor dialogue with the successor of the mundane and consumer world, where people worship their animal instincts and limit themselves to pieces of the template mosaic that they call "life".

"Why don't you want to be with someone? This is not normal" – asked Melissa in such a tone, as if such concepts as the apotheosis of rationality and freedom do not exist, and she had never heard of such things and did not think about it.

"For some reason, I always thought it was pretty obvious. It's very simple. I'm not ready for a relationship. Neither spiritually, nor morally, nor physically," replied Psyche, hardly able to utter a single word. After all, she absolutely knew that all this was pointless. Explain to people who are trapped in their prosaic interests that relationships are not just about self-affirmation and social indulgence, and certainly not just about physical interaction. She was very sorry to have to waste her time and energy on such fruitless conversations, and to be a participant in verbiage.

"This is all so unusual and strange. Okay. Let’s go to a boutique? I got my eyes on something beautiful. You might like it and buy it yourself. We will wear the same dresses."

Melissa had no idea how much she was distorting Psyche's inner world and even to some extent hurting her pride by saying such words. "Shall we wear the same dresses?" thought Psyche to herself. It became obvious that a squabble between the two was inevitable…

When the mother found out about this quarrel, she did not support her daughter. Psyche knew perfectly well that this was what was going to happen, but it didn't hurt that her mother had almost never supported her or tried to understand her. Sometimes the attempts emerged from the insipid reservoir of her inner world. However, Psyche does not need this for a long time. And sometimes she scoffs at the fact that she once believed in the need for such a dubious source of her usefilness and self-confidence as someone's “support”

2

Once again, all family members had the opportunity to witness another day. Psyche washed her face, as always scrupulously refreshing it with icy water, which, she said, was incredibly enlivening.

She lost no time and began to clean up the house. Obsessive-compulsive disorder is her lot. And she felt it more for the human being than for things that could be washed or wiped and that could not be cleaned themselves. She was upset when she saw her close people carelessly throw clothes and objects, perceiving it as disrespectful to her work and lost time.

Her parents were asleep, and Psyche went to the kitchen to make breakfast. She loved crunchy white bun toast: rich, with a golden tint and a vibrant flavor that made all her taste buds remember what it was like to feel. When she made a portion of her favorite toast, she always spread it with melted cheese, which melted not only in her mouth, but also on the bun, penetrating all open spaces. She also liked sweet tea, but the only thing that bothered her was that the small amount of white powder dissolved so quickly. "Wow, just like the truth dissolves in the ocean of our human delusions, and sometimes not human at all. How often do we mistake salt for sugar? " she thought to herself.

When it came to eating, the young girl liked to chew everything carefully and slowly, feeling every particle. In her opinion, this is one of the most easily accessible ways to be in the present, in addition to taking a shower and listening to music. The way to not think about the past, but just enjoy the taste. The way to not rush anywhere, and therefore not worry about the future. "A meal is an opportunity to inhale a sip of the present that lasts for a few moments," she accepted this thought with sadness, looking out the window at the clear, deep blue sky.

At this moment, the mother could be heard in the next room, who was in the habit of talking on the speakerphone. Psyche was clearly aware that she was on the phone with Lamia, Melissa's mother. The young girl was still in the kitchen, thinking of many things. At this moment, still talking, the mother went into the kitchen. She was making breakfast and slicing some food.

"Why live like this? When will her son grow wiser?"

"Did you notice what