The sound of crackling ice...
I looked at the bedside clock. It read 5:00 am, but it was still dark outside. I closed my eyes again and listened closely to the rhythm, my heartbeat and the ice cracking, as it enveloped the empty interiors of my grandmother's wooden house.
I couldn't believe she was not here anymore. No more loud hustling of her footsteps, no more jingling of the curtain rings as she dusted the house vigorously, no more nagging me to 'eat on time', 'rise early', 'exercise daily' and 'find the right girl and settle down'.
It had been a month since her demise and the only way I knew to deal with her death was to clear the house of her memories. The lavish grandfather clock, the delicate chinaware, the lifelike Japanese dolls, the collection of glass animal figurines - all were packed and transported to the local museum of Tulane.
I opened my eyes and started at the blank walls till my eyes hurt. The long hard winters were finally over, I said to myself, and with it the mourning for my grandma. I let out a heavy sigh and rolled over to get up to a new morning. But my body felt numb. I couldn't move a muscle. I tried lifting my hands, my feet, but they were glued to the bed. I realized my body was oozing an icky liquid making my parts stick to each other, making it impossible for me to get out of my grandma's huge wrought iron bed.
I was sinking...
I woke up suddenly, my body in jitters, her shrill nagging voice piercing through my sweaty head, "Rise and shine, you stupid bugger. Go catch the first day of the spring, before I glue you to that bed!" There she was, my petite wrinkly old woman, polishing the foot of my bed.
Day 1 of the #BarAThon Challenge. Today's prompt is 'Stranger than fiction'
Also linking with 3WW - lavish, icky, jitters.