Search This Blog

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Fiction #42: Cristina Frincu

Frozen Hearts

He’s going to the bathroom for the fifth time that day, according to her count. Muffled in his old Bart Simpson T-shirt and woolen coat, with fluffy socks in his feet, he’s pulling the hood over his forehead and snuffles his nose. His tripped walk doesn’t surprise her anymore, nor his syncopated breath. Everything is as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and as a matter of fact, as it has always been. She felt dizzy as she found herself talking in a loud and squeaky voice.

Do you have any idea how incredibly bored I am? What is this? This thing we’re doing? 

Pointing both her eyes at him, she announced.

I don’t want this, I can’t have it any longer. 

He leaned over the wall vaguely interested.

This is too much! I just want to linger naked in my house, I just want to be able to sleep all over my bed, not only on the left corner with the quilt over my head, I just want to enjoy an hour long bath, without you barging in to ask me what’s for dinner. I swear I can feel my soul shivering and rumpling when you open that bathroom door. What’s wrong with you, can’t you just feel this coldness? 

He blinks and vibrates almost indistinguishable.

I want things! I want to be able to relax in my couch reading a book, I want to shave my legs in the middle of my living room without having to keep my pants around my ankles in case you decide to check me up. I want to be myself! 

He’s looking at her without any sign of understanding her complaints, so she comes closer to him and yells.

Can’t you see? I can’t stand this anymore. I don’t have any strength left, can’t you see I’m dying, crumbling, hunching, I am simply contracting myself when you ask me to take my clothes off. I don’t want to be your ice queen anymore! 

Raising his eyebrows, he just turns around and says quite nonchalant,

Very well then, we’ll turn on the heat. But you’re gonna pay the bill! 


Cristina Frincu lives in a typical communist eight floor building in Bucharest, Romania, and when she's not trying to avoid writing, she writes about herself and a few other people. Some of her stories have been published in two Romanian literary magazines ('Echinox', 'The Short Stories Magazine') and are included in a world selected short prose anthology ('The Smartest Kid in the Bronx').

No comments:

Post a Comment