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03/09/2020
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A slapstick time travel to the attic
The green lantern had to be somewhere, she was sure to have seen it somewhere. But that was a long time ago, a very long time. She had not thrown it away. So it had to be somewhere. Maybe in the attic?
Creaking, the hatch opened and let the narrow wooden staircase slowly extend. She climbed up. A strange smell of old, slightly musty wood struck her. After all, there was no question of moisture, it was dry as dust and dark. Why had they never put a light up here. If only she'd brought a candle with her, she thought, distracted when her left foot got stuck on a bump, stumbling, looking for support, rowing with her arms, panicky, somewhere the old chest of drawers had to stand to hold on, her right hand hit something, tore it down, with a bang it fell to the floor, just at the moment when she fell halfway onto the chest of drawers, clung to it, regained her balance.
For a few moments she remained standing on the chest of drawers, waiting until her pounding heart, her breath had calmed down again. She looked around. Now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see a little better. What had her foot got stuck on there? She looked at the ground. Oh, an old cosmetic case from the 60s or 70s had cracked open and poured its contents over the floor. Obviously that was the bang. A lipstick in a golden case, old pink, without a cap was lying there. And a powder box, the golden lid also cracked off, the powder crumbling out and now forming a smoky glass melange with the dust whirled up in the attic. And a tiny vial that slowly and melancholy let its last three drops of viscously overaged medicine sink to the wooden floor. Now she also saw what had brought her down, looked closer, crouched on the floor: Beeswax. You could even still smell it, now that she had obviously roughened it up with her slipper. Yes, someone had probably been smarter than her before and had taken a candle upstairs to have light. She smelled the wax again, but had to cough immediately, the powder, the dust, the strangely colicky medicine, the musty lipstick - she quickly sat up, holding her breath before it could turn into a coughing fit. She quickly pulled the lipstick, the cap, the little bottle, the powder compact together with its lid and threw it back into the cosmetic case, which was lined with soft, red plastic. She closed it, but the closure was stuck, so she left it open without further ado. Still holding her breath, she climbed down the stairs and retracted it. Now she could breathe again.
What was she doing up there anyway? Oh, yes, the green lantern. Well, never mind. She'd gotten along without that lantern for so many years, she didn't need it now. As impressive and unusual as it was, she had never really liked it anyway.
Creaking, the hatch opened and let the narrow wooden staircase slowly extend. She climbed up. A strange smell of old, slightly musty wood struck her. After all, there was no question of moisture, it was dry as dust and dark. Why had they never put a light up here. If only she'd brought a candle with her, she thought, distracted when her left foot got stuck on a bump, stumbling, looking for support, rowing with her arms, panicky, somewhere the old chest of drawers had to stand to hold on, her right hand hit something, tore it down, with a bang it fell to the floor, just at the moment when she fell halfway onto the chest of drawers, clung to it, regained her balance.
For a few moments she remained standing on the chest of drawers, waiting until her pounding heart, her breath had calmed down again. She looked around. Now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see a little better. What had her foot got stuck on there? She looked at the ground. Oh, an old cosmetic case from the 60s or 70s had cracked open and poured its contents over the floor. Obviously that was the bang. A lipstick in a golden case, old pink, without a cap was lying there. And a powder box, the golden lid also cracked off, the powder crumbling out and now forming a smoky glass melange with the dust whirled up in the attic. And a tiny vial that slowly and melancholy let its last three drops of viscously overaged medicine sink to the wooden floor. Now she also saw what had brought her down, looked closer, crouched on the floor: Beeswax. You could even still smell it, now that she had obviously roughened it up with her slipper. Yes, someone had probably been smarter than her before and had taken a candle upstairs to have light. She smelled the wax again, but had to cough immediately, the powder, the dust, the strangely colicky medicine, the musty lipstick - she quickly sat up, holding her breath before it could turn into a coughing fit. She quickly pulled the lipstick, the cap, the little bottle, the powder compact together with its lid and threw it back into the cosmetic case, which was lined with soft, red plastic. She closed it, but the closure was stuck, so she left it open without further ado. Still holding her breath, she climbed down the stairs and retracted it. Now she could breathe again.
What was she doing up there anyway? Oh, yes, the green lantern. Well, never mind. She'd gotten along without that lantern for so many years, she didn't need it now. As impressive and unusual as it was, she had never really liked it anyway.
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