Another Version

by Olha Kolesnyk

Silver moon light was in front of the window in left lonely house. We passed away years and years ago.
Our dark shadows had still existed in the air, in the soul of our old mansion. We do not have bodies, clothes and faces. We had thoughts instead. Our existence consisted of silver energy, energy of human mind. This vigour was left here by its previous dwellers. Shattered ceilings, broken walls, cracked armchairs. Everything reminded us about our former lives. Who we were? Just ghosts without awareness, although we had thoughts, even dreams. We felt every beat of lanterns butterflies out of our house. We had no feelings about the time, weather, and love. However we were able to look through immense eternity of human being. Maybe it was just a deception of our weak minds. We created other worlds in these tiny rooms in our mansion. We had glowing mirrors in our eyes….
Green grass lied down in our moths, dead flowers were blooming in our heads, twigs were slowing climbing out of our ears! We were sick and tired from fighting with this sad fate of being nonhuman! Calm voices of our shadows were sparkling in reflections everywhere, on the wooden tables, on marble floors, lost obscure mirror in someone’s bedroom. We were a part of this house, we were everywhere, and we were in every little speck of dust, in every wear and tear chandelier, in every atom of musty air inside of this place. We were the house, we were the guests, and we were the owners.
Our little treasure was somewhere in this place. We knew it. Safeness and insane combined inside of us. However we didn’t have any contents. We were prisoners of the bundles of mysterious energy. We were alone and together at the same time. We even didn’t know if we were we! Maybe this was only I? We wanted to hide in depth of darkness of the mansion! We wanted to find out another way, another place, and another reality!
Faint steps were heard somewhere on the stairs… There was nothing except darkness, hunting darkness of our memories… Weak knocking in the kitchen, slight wind in the corridor, hardly audible ticking of clock on the wall….We were the kings of instants, of space, of eternity…