The girl from the attic

The girl upstairs is such a freak. What does she do up there?
Sometimes, in the evening, she goes out and comes home in the most intoxicated way. She’s not the mental kind, off her medication, screaming all day “Virgin Mary, you fucking alien!” but still, I can hear her talking with her black cats with weird names. From all the noises I imagined she’s all grumpy and avoidable. Not in a dangerous way but a harmless mood wrecker type, you know.
One day I saw her watering her plants that she’s keeping in front of her attic door. From all her movement in the hallway, a slight scent of coffee, laundry detergent and maybe cat’s litter box, invaded my space.
From that moment on, I felt safe.
Not safe like I understood that she’s harmless or not a nutcase but like I never felt this safe in my whole life, the way I felt inhaling her smell and picturing her watering the plants.
In the middle of the night she was listening Voltaire.
I smiled and felt even safer.

7 comments on “The girl from the attic

  1. Inache says:

    she’s amazing! :)

  2. septimmia says:

    extraordinar, Liz. zau asa.

  3. mab says:

    She’s a rotten kind’a cute
    For a zombie prostitute.

  4. […] I will always be the girl from the attic. The girl upstairs is such a freak. What does she do up there? Sometimes, in the evening, she goes […]

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