I found myself by the computer around three AM, surrounded by boxes and debris, film, camera in one hand, glasses on the other, paper flying, open boxes scattered all over like one bad omelette. The jolly tune was banging louder then my crackled joint but it wasn’t clicking in. My blood high on something would not let up, jetting through my veins like misguided lighting. My voice praising Him, cracking, praising Him, blasted thorough the roof penetrating the neighbors walls and landing at the bottom of an empty pool. Prescriptions weren’t written just yet but emotions were running wild. The clock on the wall left without batteries was yupping anxious words at the turtle but the pointers were gusting briskly before the police could handcuff it. I looked around and it was just I and the stillness, exhausted, screaming at the lunacy to split, to no avail as no one would reply back long enough to leave a message.

©️Angela Aguiar


The Room Next Door

I opened the door and the room was covered in snow, powder milk white veil guarding the rails, smelling a gardenias. The mantle was freshly decorated in beige on top, bedazzled with gold. The dining table was rectangular, embroidered tablecloth with stripes on the edge, adorned by yellow tussles. The wall told fiery songs acapella, lyrics to the melodious space. The seats were brand new, puffy on top, legs crossed, embezzled with potpourri, the color of pinot noir. There were flowers sprinkled in every corner of the room; yellow here, beige there, white here, cream there everywhere my eyes landed. It was a sea of sedative colors, a veil of undiscovered pond, antidote to my amen of glory, rival only to that perfect room mom gave me for my sweet sixteenth but jolly to the girl next door.

©️Angela Aguiar