le brouillard.

i wake up more or less earlier than expected to the sound of chatter and heavy footsteps on the kitchen linoleum. occasionally, i feel the presence of someone walking by my closed bedroom door - that same strange sensation people get when they feel they are being watched - and hear the creaks in the wooden door frame. slightly muffled conversations about what objects need to be moved lets me know that my housemate is well underway in moving out of the apartment. i pull off my blankets and pull on my clothes, opening the door to a less-than-organized shuffle of boxes into the living room and out the front door. you look so young! my housemate's mother exclaims, as i introduce myself to his parents, who have arrived to help him move. lending a helping hand, i clear his things, bringing bags from the apartment to the mid-sized u-haul truck parked out back. most of his affects have already filled three-quarters of the cargo hold, while his father works inside to slide or fit various items into their niches for maximum space utilization. the entire process takes from morning to a bit past noon, and by the time i bid a safe drive back to his family and a good luck to him [who is off to pursue a new job closer to home], the apartment had been cleaned out almost completely. i shut the front door and gaze at the bright white void, which used to be a living room. nothing remains except my lonely floor lamp, my former housemate's wooden television shelf, too heavy to move and too troublesome to disassemble, and a dirty carpet harboring a curved grey path leading from the front door to the back bedrooms. in a corner my surfboard, two fold-out camping chairs folded-up, and a neglected piñata huddle together for what looks like warmth in this now cold and barren room.

i straighten some shoes and walk over to the bedrooms, looking at the strange contrast of my very full and decorated room on the right to my former housemate's now desolate room on the left. stepping inside the quietness, with the etheral smell of sweat and old sleep still lingering in the air like a ghost, i survey the scene. on the off-white carpet, spotted with who-knows-what over the years, an ethernet cable lies twisted and coiled - a thread-like snake which has tangled itself around an escaped prey, only to forget how to un-knot itself and die in the process. under the window along the edge of the room lay a few long and slender plastic vertical blinds, which have broken off from a strong breeze in the past, now covered by a thin layer of dust. in the bright and airy room, looking deceptively clean with nothing in it anymore, only a wide horizontal band of dark mildew around the corner intimates at where the bed used to be.

the next morning, i am woken by some hammering, nailing, and other blue-collar handiwork going on outside down my neighbor's alley beneath my window. i get dressed and walk into the living room, only to find myself shocked by what was before me. against one wall, a tall wooden book shelf had appeared, apparently overnight, filled with numerous books and a handful of photo albums...

the suspense is terrible, i hope it will last.
: wilde.