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    An Empty Room
    An Empty Room
    An Empty Room
    Ebook71 pages1 hour

    An Empty Room

    By T.R. Sami

    ()

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    About this ebook

    It is a short book about love, but not about that kind of love... about the one which people go into deep feelings. We might call this story: "The first moment of love", when people come along before any form of relationship. It is about that small fire that warms us inside before our souls start to burn in a flame of love.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publisherthelittlefrenchzoho.com
    Release dateJan 24, 2019
    ISBN9780463182420
    An Empty Room
    Author

    T.R. Sami

    After being accused of using ‘a strange way of talking’ from people around him and a few facetious recommendations to write it down, he started writing lyrics, poetry, and short stories for himself. He was forced to interrupt his studies because of various issues and decided writing for therapeutic purposes. Almost 8 years later and after two published books, he realized that the Slovak language is very susceptible to dyslexia and switched to English.I thought it'd be a good idea to make it by a poem, however it seemed like a good idea only when I was writing it. Anyway, I thought that ... it might not be such a bad idea.

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      Book preview

      An Empty Room - T.R. Sami

      cover-image, An-Empty-Room_Digitalizado with pic

      AN EMPTY ROOM

      by T. R. Samuel

      ***

      Published by The Little French eBooks

      Art Cover by Freddy Flores

      Copyright 2019- Samuel Tureček

      License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this.

      I

      Knocking on the wall. A sound. I wish I could hear it. From the left wall, I hear a loud laugh, and sometimes even falling glasses or bottles. That is irritating. From the ceiling, I hear steps. Those girls who live there should wear slippers and not high heels; at least, not at night. There is one saying: serial killers are the nicest neighbors, always silent, always polite. When I think about it, I am the most silent here. Don't take me wrong, but if they were living in the same conditions like me, I would understand the serial killers more than I should. However, conditions aren't what makes me stay here, alone. They even don't make me tenderly cuddle with the darkness. Honestly, sometimes the unlighted places are kind. I hung an old blanket on the only window in my room, so I can't see the sun. I am not even sure if it's out yet or if it's still too early. I feel like I will stay here like this until the end. I silently wish that, at least, one god is still alive and sees me now. I want to tell him that it was his fault and beg him for mercy at the same time. It would be so easy. I'm not depressed, nor sad, neither feel ill. I can say I just gave up. I gave up and still bear a tiny hope. A hope that everything could be as I want. Such a pity..! I was refused by my own fate. Never give your trust to anything. If you already gave it, then you made the same mistake as me. But, it doesn't automatically means you made a mistake, because you trusted in something. You made a mistake, because you didn't trust yourself only. When the wind breaks all branches, and the flood take all things away, you will stay there alone. Everything will be up to you; rather, counting on yourself. You'll be the last one who can betray you. You carry your own story, and all characters will be just you. But, you can be just a character in stories which other people will carry in their minds. Now I have to take my story from its shallow grave. I need to know, and find out what happened -even when it's the only thing that I'll do for rest of my life in this small room. I have to, and I will find out. It all started in the morning.

      I opened my eyes, and looked out of the window. I was still in bed, but I could see everything from there. It was raining, but it wasn't that type of a bad rain. Through the slightly open window came a fresh kiss from the beautiful spring rain. Unfortunately, I had my books under the window, so they got a French kiss. I still have them, even though two of them aren't readable at all. It would be so sad to throw them away. If I forgot their titles, and I didn't read them yet. Frankly, I could write the titles, but I'm lazy. Back then, I cared less than now. I just couldn't reject that tragedy which became a memory, and from there it turned into a nostalgic scarecrow. Now it only reminds me it won't happen anymore. Well, if that happens, I won’t enjoy it as much as I did since then. Everything was as usual. My phone was on the desk, next to the bed, with a glass of water and a diary around. That old diary was essential to me. I wrote some poems during the previous night. You can call it a morning ritual or habit, but the first thing I did was checking the phone for new messages or missed calls. I knew they won't be there, so I wasn't surprised. I took a deep breath to overcome that slight disappointment. One deep breath was enough to deal with it. Then I drank water and clumsily grabbed the diary. I wanted to read what I wrote to see how pathetic I was the night before. I thought that if that poem, from the previous night, was sad, funny, bad, good or worthy of remembering, it might mean something. Honestly, it was the last task at night and the first one in the morning. When you think about it like that, it had more a symbolic meaning. Then, from nowhere, suddenly, like my awakening to this beautiful rainy day, I heard knocking on the wall. It was probably an accidental knock. However, after a short silence, I heard another three knocks like someone suffered from OCD. I got up and came closer to the wall, with sleepy paces. Something like that didn't happen until that day. The neighbors on the right was the most silent ones. I thought that was an empty room or it was home of our neighbor killer, which could explain that silence for one long year. I pressed my ear to the wall and tried not to breathe to suffocate all sounds. I heard whispers and quiet steps. Those steps were louder and louder, but still very quiet ones. Even though I had to be noisier when I went to check the wall. Then, all went into a complete silence. I was imagining how that person there leaned the ear against the wall same as me. It was so magical to imagine the way how

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