Wetland Sunset

Myra startled as a stumbling Leonard crashed sleepingly through the dark living room, fumbling for the ringing phone and breaking glass in the process. She jumped at the corresponding noise but was soon calmed by his brief and calm conversation – “how exactly does it feel, human life,” she wondered. Myra yawned while stretching her back, preparing herself to ponder this thought on the comfortable sofa: How was it that life for Leonard seemed to be fleeting, like rain on a sunny day or sudden gusts of wind slowly stripping the trees in autumn? And yet, it was commandeering, imposing its twists and turns on everyday life in all their briefness or extraordinary drama. But why, she thought while straightening a spot of messy fur on her back, does he antagonise it and still embrace its wonders once they had become apparent to him anyway? She had suspected all along that he got some kind of satisfaction out of this struggle and premeditated that she would observe him, tomorrow, to resolve this mystery. Her dream turned into an eagle-winged tigress, hunting like an owl through the dark and starry night.

***

His favourite radio station brought him back into the world in the morning. He knew the commentators by their voices, enjoyed the interviews and discussions on current events and was never annoyed by the musical intersections. The radio, just like the bakery around the corner, was what he loved about home: This he had known before, but cherished ever since he had come back from his recent trip to the opposite end of the planet. At the moment home was still new to him and he considered himself lucky for what he had and that was that. Moreover, he had started to get this deep sense of satisfaction from his work: Someone had said it, and it had stuck – “there are struggles much bigger than us”. He really wanted to be a part in some of them.

***

Myra had long woken up, cleaned her fur and sharpened her claws. Now she was hungry. Leonard had not come back home all day and outside the moon already rose from behind the next row of houses. Houses - Myra took them for granted, just like the trees, grass or garbage cans in the backyard. At the moment, she was concerned with other things, though. She hadn’t had a chance to check on Leonard today and was hungry, very hungry.
In the morning he had seemed strangely at ease, even playing the paper-mouse-on-string game she was crazy about. And when he had ruffled her, he had done it just right, there had not even been the slightest sense of ---
she heard the key in the door. All her suspicions about human life were confirmed even before she saw the woman enter the flat. Myra watched her come in from the opposite end of the living-room. She didn’t look hostile, rather at odds with herself, the world - just about everything. Her eyes were wet: This she had seen with Leonard before and it fitted perfectly what she had wanted to find out about yesterday! Yet, it did not matter much now, for now she was just a very, very hungry cat.
The woman sat down next to her, staring a hole into something on the opposite wall, the keys weakly dangling in her left hand. “Let’s see if this will make a difference,” Myra thought and brushed around the legs, purring and mewling. Oh, she really was hungry now…

***

A few hours earlier a glorious day full of jokes, flirts and laughter had come to an end for Leonard. He and his friend Fran were then enjoying the sunset, overlooking the meadows, flowers, birds and trees alongside the little lake inside their local city park.
“I’m really glad I caught your call last night – broke something while picking it up, though,” Leonard said. “Oh, where I come from that is a lucky charm,” Fran replied. “Ha! Where I come from it is actually a sign for clumsiness,” laughed Leonard. “I don’t think so,” Fran said, now looking straight at him “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long, long time. Now, you spill the beans what’s going on with you, will you!”
Leonard smiled. The sun was still warm and setting and everything looked strangely beautiful and surreal. In fact, the sun was a giant orange and the meadow a mysterious carpet painted by Monet. At first he did not notice the fist clenching his heart, but when he did, the pain was already too strong to speak. The world around him turned into something else, like an artist’s impression or an incredibly witty remark. He wanted to laugh, but his mind broke into confetti.

On a gorgeous late-summer evening Leonard's good friend Fran called the ambulance.


Thank you, Jan Schmuckal, for Wetland Sunset.