I was invited (well, not personally, but still) to Fandango’s Friday Flashback!

Fandango scrolls back, every Friday, and gives a second chance to a post he had published on the same date, years before. I thought it was a great way to remember some of the stuff I did a while back, and I decided to participate…

So here it is!

Written on July 14th of 2018, here is the second part of my series The Hermit. I did remember the character, but I must say that I had completely forgotten that I had written 9 parts of her troubled and puzzling life. I’ll rarely admit it but I must say that re-reading the two first installments, I was pretty happy with 2018 Me. So, yeah, if you feel like some darkish story-telling, help yourself!

I hope you’ll enjoy it (again), and I wish you’re safe and well, wherever you are…

.

---

.

.

Her black nails contrasted with the bright white bathroom sink porcelain.

She rubbed the soap frantically on her palms, and the scented foam dripped from her shaking fingers. Her hands were long clean, but she couldn’t just turn off the water and go on with the rest of her day.

This was ridiculous.

She knew it was just in her head. The short breath, the feeling of her heart being squeezed like a fuckin’ stress ball… The uncontrolable tears, running down her cheeks. She gave herself a good long look in the mirror.

Get your shit together, for Christ’s sake!!

The panic attacks had become somewhat habitual, but it didn’t make them any less frightening. Especially when they hit just as she woke up, like this morning.

She picked up the brush from the shelf, and began untangling her long dark hair. As if acting as if nothing was going on would make the attack go away. Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she just wished Life would give her a break, for a change.

At least, this morning, she didn’t feel the need to hurt herself.

Woo fuckin’ hoo, girl!

Said sarcastically, still staring at her sorry reflexion.

If only she understood why it happened. Outside she had every reason to go crazy…. Too many people, too much noise. Having to go up buildings far too tall, getting trapped in rooms way too small. Every step in town bringing it’s lot of unpredicable events.

Now, she had everything under control. E.very.thing! Still her tight throat was vivid proof that she couldn’t elude her brain’s mishaps!

Mr and Mrs Downstair Neighbours fighting over burnt toasts. Some people really didn’t realize their luck!

There was only one thing to do, now…

She curled back into bed, stretched an arm and turned on her vintage turning table. Turning the volume knob almost to the max, she filled the air with Cat Stevens’ soothing voice.

I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul…

You can catch up with the first part of this story here.

.

And you can visit the original post here.