Diana Nevidal "The Door"

Clio has aВ hard time talking toВ people all day long. So the call centre is clearly not her dream job, but we have what we have.

If you still don’t know what you want to be when you grow up, it’s hard to go into some narrow field. Because to be really successful at something, you have to put your whole life into it. And you don’t want to put it into something that is not you.

And yet you still want toВ put food on your plate.

Body build: Average – not skinny, but not chubby either

At this point, you’re probably getting a rough idea of what kind of person Clio is. But you don’t know about her laziness yet. And what lazy person wouldn’t prefer ordering pizza and watching a new episode of a great show to cooking a complicated meal?

Besides, it’s a great pleasure to eat, and a hedonist can’t do without it.

She also cannot run, squat or lift enough toВ transform all those unhealthy meals into abs, because she is so lazy (or, as Clio calls it, В«self-caringВ») and extremely convincing when it comes toВ it.

Additionalskills: Partially music, dance, painting, almost any creative activity

Clio is aВ creative person, who as aВ child has studied dance, singing, clay modelling and musical instruments, but gave it all up when she got bored. She is talented and, despite not completing all her classes, she can draw, sing and dance quite well.

Ironically, unlike the ancient Greek muse she is named after, she has aВ big problem with history. Names, dates and events desperately resist being juxtaposed with each other. They are getting mixed up and are refusing toВ line up inВ the right order.

Hobbies: Watching movies/TV-series/cartoons, playing games

Movies, TV-series and other visual content are worlds that Clio has always escaped toВ from ours. There are aВ lot ofВ these worlds, and inВ almost every one ofВ them there are characters who are like family toВ her. She cares about each ofВ them as if they were as real as you and me, and she is more often seen inВ tears because ofВ what happens inВ aВ film or aВ book rather than because ofВ the real-life problems.

в—Џ Notable personal qualities:

Intelligence: Thanks toВ her intelligence and wit, she could afford toВ skip school and university for many years and still graduate without any bad marks.

Lazy: So lazy that she even puts on make-up quite rarely. Between having extra-time toВ sleep and preening her feathers, she always chooses sleep. As you can imagine, doing laundry/cleaning/dishwashing/anything else that needs toВ be done with any kind ofВ consistency is torture for such aВ person.

Hedonism: After years ofВ philosophical research, Clio has decided that the meaning ofВ life is inВ the pleasure. Or, toВ put it another way, hedonism.

Selfishness: For some reason, this word is perceived as a swear word, but Clio considers it a normal self-care. As one example, she doesn’t quite understand when people talk about a job they love – is that even possible?

If they do, they must be the energizer activists who are ready to give up their last shirt «for the common good». But Clio doesn’t want to «give back to the society», she wants to be paid and to buy stuff she wants.

Ok, maybe, her favourite job would be the one where with aВ minimum ofВ effort she could get the most for herself.

Adaptability: With this set ofВ traits, aВ person has no choice but toВ learn toВ adapt. This includes the ability toВ mimic the surrounding people, toВ find aВ way out ofВ tricky situations, and toВ fit her behaviours into what the situation demands.

Belief inВ Miracle: Despite the many times life has tripped Clio up, despite the many times she has vowed toВ stop believing inВ the supernatural, it seems toВ be impossible toВ squeeze out the magic fairytale ofВ her byВ any means. Naturally, she is fascinated byВ witchcraft and sorcery, which makes life inВ aВ world without magic aВ wildly depressing experience.

The torment of choice: Clio doesn’t like to choose. She doesn’t like to choose what to wear, where to eat, or what to be when she grows up.

Longing: All her life, our heroine has felt that she has to be somewhere else. That this world is not really for her. That she can’t learn to fly here. This feeling is not a constant weight nailing her to the ground, but rather a sub-tone, a quiet ceaseless squeaking noise that accompanies Clio throughout her life.

This is why aВ random song, aВ thought, or even aВ whiff ofВ wind can make aВ person suddenly and inexplicably cry, even though nothing seems toВ be wrong. But the rest ofВ the time, too, her eyes betray this longing: occasionally Clio can be seen staring off into the distance. ToВ somewhere where she isВ not.

CHAPTER 2: Tramway

On aВ Wednesday evening,

After the dinner,

The sleep is for tired moany adults.

We are inviting,

Young daredevils,

To the jungle and into the wild…[2 - A silly song from some old TV show, from Clio’s childhood.]

Oooh no, now that song will be stuck in my head for a long time. Stop playing. Stop playing. Stop it. Don’t think about anything. Quiet.

…

Wednesday evening, after dinner…

Oh, for heck’s sake! It’s not even Wednesday. At least it’s not even Wednesday here. And somewhere, maybe it is Wednesday. Probably not in our world, though.

Somewhere…

Is life without the internet worth travelling toВ other worlds?

After all, if you think about it that way, what is the average Gondorian doing on a quiet Wednesday night in the Middle-earth? We’re talking about the most boring times, not when it’s time to die heroically in a war for world peace.[3 - Here and further are references to the world built by Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion.]

Speaking ofВ battles, even Grandpa Tolkien, with all his thoroughness, did not carve inВ stone the names ofВ thousands and thousands ofВ foot soldiers, even the oned who died more or less heroically.

And he carved more than most authors, alright.

Ok, now I’m just thinking about the Professor snowboarding. Stop! Stop!

Clio’s confused train of thought hit the rock of reality the moment the creaking tram doors opened and let the cold November air in. Admittedly, the cold itself is already pretty bad, but now it was particularly unfortunate.

This tram is an artefact from such ancient times that it was not yet known that the metal seats were uncomfortable for passengers. Plus, as it is such a relic, it wasn’t surprising that heating didn’t work. And in this nasty cold times, there is a real danger of sticking to one of these iron thrones.

It’s time for us, sitting in our warm, cosy abodes, to indignantly cluck our tongues and think patronisingly from the height of our wisdom: «Well, she who cares about her health would rather stand than freeze her fillets. She’s got babies to give birth to!»

But the foretold mothers have no interest inВ our most helpful advice.

Sitting on aВ tram is not only an honour and aВ great privilege, but also aВ simple matter ofВ survival. Working-class life develops many helpful reflexes, and В«if you see an empty seat, sit!В» is one ofВ them. The battle for aВ seat after aВ work shift is no joke.

Only happy people who are full ofВ energy can afford toВ bow toВ ladies ofВ indeterminate-yet-something-close-to-retirement age, cherishing aВ sense ofВ satisfaction at how well their parents raised them.

People who are mentally and physically exhausted by the pressure of work are ready to get into the vehicle, plunge onto the first free seat they see without a second thought and tell the woman, who does not look old enough, an indecisive and uncertain but still a ’no’ to a demand of giving up the seat.

We, who lie on our smart mattresses that remember our shapes, should, of course, respond to such impertinent reflections with yet another clucking of the tongue. After all, they’re not made of glass, they won’t break, and in general, the youths of today have no respect for their elders!

But let’s not put our eggs in one basket of public condemnation just yet – we can’t do any better than the ladies mentioned above anyway.

All the more so because today was somehow not an ordinary day. Today the tram was as empty as a library, or so it seemed after the everyday procedure of mass intimate breathing on each other’s necks.

No one was trapped byВ the half-open doors, everyone could reach the handrail, no one looked with hatred at the lucky people who had taken the seats. It was aВ miracle. AВ simple rush-hour miracle. And all its witnesses enjoyed the moment instead ofВ asking unnecessary questions.

However, this miracle did not go unnoticed. It may have given direction to the restless stream of our heroine’s thoughts. Meanwhile, the girl was shaking as she received a gift of a merciless November that crawled through the open doors.