Her body floated through space and time. Clammy fingers touched her face as she fell to the floor. She woke in the early hours of the morning on the kitchen floor.

A familiar sight met her; bottles of the previous nights' drinking scattered the floor. The room became a safe haven of familiar memories.

In the distance, a bird called at the moon setting and the potential of the sun breaking the horizon soon. She hated the damn bird. She picked herself up from the floor and walked to the bathroom. The light was still on. She drank a glass of water and looked at her reflection. Everything swam in the reflection, but almost instantly everything was pulled back to safety. She touched her face and pulled back her eyes. Red circles. White mixed with alcoholic streaks.

***

She grabbed the pamphlet from the board. ART SCHOOL. For adults. She laughed at herself. The bag full of groceries was not too heavy. She picked it up again and walked home. The pamphlet burnt her pocket. Maybe it was not so stupid, she thought.

***

The cork popped. The oil burnt the onions. The wine was more important. The pamphlet lay on the table next to the wine bottle. Her eyes caught the yellow paper. She was going to do it. She was going to get her life in order. The wine numbed the pain. She was going to get better. She began to fly further away with every sip. But the yellow pamphlet stayed in focus, it was always in her vision even though she flew away from reality.

She haphazardly cooked something and swallowed it down with the wine. Her mind could not stay in one place, but she knew she would visit the art school tomorrow morning. The first class started at 9 am. She would need to be ready by then. She needed to stop drinking. The bottle was half empty. Her head spun and the food tasted like nothing. But the yellow pamphlet remained yellow, it remained central.

***

She was the first to enter. No one was there. The smell of the room was chalky. Various artworks decorated the walls. She took a seat behind a desk that was reasonably clean. Her own thoughts knocked against her head. The world became a strange place. Then he walked in. Her mind stopped for a second. She did not know why. He was not good-looking, there was nothing unique about him. But for some reason, her mind just stopped. He sat three chairs from her. He smelled of something familiar. Her mind could not place it. He took out a book from the leather satchel next to his table. The name was obscured by his hand. The print was small. She tried to look but without being too obvious. His voice shook her body.

"Because I longed for eternal life, I slept with many whores and drank nights on end."

"Sorry," she said. Did he speak to her?

"Albert Camus, a philosopher of some kind. He wrote about finding eternal life in the simple bodily pleasures of life."

His voice carried authority. She did not know what he was speaking of, but she knew that it was something important.

"Maya," she stood up and stuck her hand out.

"K."

He did not speak after that first encounter. He read his book as she again took her seat. More people filled the room. The art class started, but she was fixated on K.

Postscriptum

The story is a slow fermentation. The art school is the most important moment. Soon more excitement will follow.

The photographs are my own, taken with my iPhone. The story is also my own creation.

I hope you enjoyed it. Stay well!