Pointless Gunshots

I of course have reasons for being so fast in the narrating

future events, but Lord, why do I hate myself? What

did I forget or what I had to remember? I questioned and

perhaps I could find it if those flies on the glass didn’t

steal my attention; then I looked beyond the overcoats

of those in the hallway where Kalashnikov stood; he was

cold, I put more blankets on him, “I don’t hear the doorbell”

he says to me, “you’ll see how quiet I am”, I say to him and

to make him feel better I played, as I did in the past,

mother’s old corset like an accordion; yet since

I wasn’t in the present time I had a foreign mask which

made it hard for me to chew especially when I chewed

my fingers (old habit since our days in the country side)

and as I’m by nature compassionate I went and knocked on

the door again, “but what on earth do you want”, they ask me,

“to forget, but I can’t”, I said to them since happiness,

my friends, is a secondary matter and a crazy man is also

welcomed only when he loses; then I sped up my steps  

and turning the corner; but where was I going?

Besides, it was late, evening was imminent and the last

gunshots were heard in the distance: the white and

the red besieged Odessa which didn’t exist.