[ ביית אותי ]   [ עדיפה ]   [ עזרה ]  [ FAQ ]  [ אודות ]   [ הטבלה ]   [ דואל ]
  [ חדשות ]   [ אישיים ]
[
קול-נוע
]
 [
סאונד
]
 [
ויז'ואל
]
 [
מלל
]
 
New Stage
חיפוש בבמה

שם משתמש או מספר
סיסמתך
[ אני רוצה משתמש! ]
[ איבדתי סיסמה ): ]


מדורי במה








I

 I was sitting in a coffee place, waiting for my sister to
finish her shift.
 At some point the CD stopped playing and all that could be
heard was the murmur of people and the low buzzing of the
fridges, tinkling glasses and spoons laid on saucers.
Sometimes you could make out a single word, or a single
voice would suddenly stick out; but mostly the mix of notes
was quite monotonous- Almost numbing. I started feeling
drowsy.
 I finished my cold soda- and the over head cooling system
was sending shivers down my spine,
I had to go use the restroom but felt more inclined to rest
my feet, so I just sat there.
 I stared at the people walk in and my sister taking
orders.
At some point I started drifting away lost in the droning
sounds of the coffee place.

II

 That is when I felt the first shake.
I raised my head and checked to see if anyone else around me
felt it. Everyone seemed to be going on with their business.
My sister making coffee, the couple that just walked in
checking out the menu, people chatting...
I opened my mouth to ask my sister is she felt anything but
changed my mind and dismissed it as either my imagination,
either, the more plausible option, the cooling system was
working my nerves.

III

 I picked my pen out from my pocket, and started doodling
on one of the many peach-colored napkins. I am not sure how
much time passed, several minutes I suppose.
That's when I felt the second shake.
 My hand flew across the napkin as the table jerked.
Crashing sounds came from behind the counter as the glass
met the floor and began ringing.
The singing of the glass was shortly followed by echoing
silence.
 The people in the coffee place seemed stunned. My sister
slowly straightened her back up and moved her hand from
above her head, where it served as a shield.
After what seemed like a lifetime a person, which I could
not see, but assume from the voice and it's pitch, was a
very scared man, asked ''is it over?''
 That is when the murmur in the restaurant began again. But
it was not the same murmur; people were worried, excited,
and shocked.

IV

 As far as I can recall this small town hasn't ever had a
quake. I mean, I know for certain it never shook in the
forty-two years I've been alive and living here, and I have
never heard of such an incident in this place, but something
told me that this was not the end of it. Perhaps I watched
too many films, read too many books, who knows, but I
decided to say what's on my mind ''I don't think this is the
end, I think we all need to find shelt-''
 Before I finished my sentence the shaking began again. The
people started shooting, some bolting for the door- but when
the floor violently rose right where the WELCOME mat lay
they were hurled back.
I was still standing near my table, my first instinct was to
duck under it, but other tables from the front of the
restaurant were flying my way.
 I ran into the kitchen to find the chefs running around,
boxes falling from over head.
One of the crates landed on the head-chef, they called him
Baba, and that was how Baba was crushed and lost in debris.
 I ran back to the restaurant, attempting to avoid the
carnage in the kitchen, to avoid seeing Baba being squashed,
just in time to see the front windows crash in.
The floor underneath my feet was shaking madly; jumping up
and down in a way that made me feel as if I am in an
elevator that went mad and can't make its mind up. Or down.
Up- down-up-down the ground couldn't take it anymore and it
split.

V

 A dark lightning bolt shaped crack appeared and spread
halving the restaurant, one side higher than the other,
people still screaming and running around, but running
nowhere and into each other.
 As soon as you started running to one place- a point that
seems safe- it is gone, shattered, replaced by mayhem.
The couple were huddled together in a corner near the big
fridge that holds the beautifully decorated cakes.
In fact I could recognize and find everyone I knew was in
the restaurant- either running madly, either wounded,
either, like Baba, crushed and gone.
 Only one person was missing.
I couldn't find my sister.

VI

 I started running towards the counter. The coffee machine
has splashed everywhere, the shelves that held the cups were
swinging from side to side like a clock's pendulum.
Something gripped my leg.
 I looked down to see something around my ankle, I couldn't
identify it, it seemed like a stem of a big plant, or a
tentacle of an animal, and it just gripped tighter and
tighter.
I heard the machines in the kitchen and behind the counters
turn on and buzz.
 I could hear the ice maker, the oven, the microwave, the
milkshake maker and the oil from the fryer- all bouncing and
working in earnest- as if they had a meal to prepare for the
devil in less than twenty seconds.
I was scared.

VII

 Crates were flying from the kitchen towards the
restaurant.
It seemed like everything was being pulled to the centre, to
where the crack began- and from where grabbing dark green
tentacles now seemed to be emerging.
 Between the crates of mushrooms, peppers, boxes of sugar
and spices- some kitchen knives slid down as well.
I grabbed Baba's big knife and cut the tentacle grabbing my
leg.

VIII

 Suddenly everything was quite.
The tentacle retreated into the crack in the floor, and I
pulled myself to a near by chair, put my elbows on a table
and my head in my hands, and sat there.
The murmur began again.
 Something splashed on to my arm. Red- Blood. No. It was
pink; and my sister was standing next to me saying
something.
 I looked up at her, she noticed I was not really there,
and repeated what she had said.
''Sorry, I accidentally spilled some on you- here- I made
some extra Strawberry milkshake by accident, you can have
it''


27th April 2007







loading...
חוות דעת על היצירה באופן פומבי ויתכן שגם ישירות ליוצר

לשלוח את היצירה למישהו להדפיס את היצירה
היצירה לעיל הנה בדיונית וכל קשר בינה ובין
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.
- על מה את
מתחרטת?

"על המכנסיים
הלבנים ההם
מקסטרו. מאתיים
חמישים שקל
בשביל מה?
להיראות כמו
איזו ג'יי לו
מהשכונה עם תחת
בגודל מזרח
ירושלים".
- לא, משהו
משמעותי שעשית,
ואת מתחרטת
עליו.

"אה, אז מלחמת
יום כיפור".




(מתוך הראיון
האינטימי
והבלעדי עם איזה
אחת. בקרוב).


תרומה לבמה




בבמה מאז 27/6/07 14:40
האתר מכיל תכנים שיתכנו כבלתי הולמים או בלתי חינוכיים לאנשים מסויימים.
אין הנהלת האתר אחראית לכל נזק העלול להגרם כתוצאה מחשיפה לתכנים אלו.
אחריות זו מוטלת על יוצרי התכנים. הגיל המומלץ לגלישה באתר הינו מעל ל-18.
© כל הזכויות לתוכן עמוד זה שמורות ל
רון מוגלי

© 1998-2022 זכויות שמורות לבמה חדשה