THE VOICES BY FIONA CUMMINGS (M O M)

As I looked out from my window, in some cases a prison if not for the key to the door, but still the window only opened enough to allow a fly in. Depending on the season, in winter it was a vast blanket of dirty white and dead animals on heads everywhere. Confident walkers not in any fear of slipping as they hurried on their way, either commuting to work or to visit people in the tall grey buildings in the distance. I could see how cold it was though it was very warm inside of my room.

 

In the background, were the sounds of voices voices that scared me making me feel uncomfortable knowing I was far from home. Knowing at any moment a knock to my door could change my mood and day. Knowing that there may not even be a knock, as many had the key to my door and even more used it!

 

Footsteps would pass by my room would they stop? No, not today. They carried on, it was someone else’s turn.

 

As I looked out from my window now we are in summer. Oh, those roads with seven lines of traffic really the same lines as in winter? How different this view is? The tall statues even look warm where as in winter each line and expression on the famous faces seem to look as if to shiver. In summer I could see fear in their faces an yet their armour tried to mask that and showed forceful people possibly play acting as their horses sadly took them to war.

 

But the leaves on the trees, the tall white trunks could be seen against green, a colour that didn’t exist in winter.

 

I could see people’s hair, rather than the poor foxes that they carried upon their heads by winter.

 

People smiled their bear arms looked tanned and relieved to be away from heavy clothes, normally furs they wore in winter.

 

The sun beat against my window, the air was none existent. My room  was so hot. Those voices still spoke to me in a way I didn’t like.

 

Spring was full of hope and autumn prepared itself for what was to come. The harsh reality of winter.

 

Footsteps still headed towards my room. I counted them, they got stronger each step. When they stop, as did my heart. It is because I had the voices playing and they, didn’t like that because they, couldn’t hear my phone calls and conversations!

 

I had to get out, so, they would all be able to see me, watch me, my every move but it’s better than being in that room with those voices, coming from the radio. Cold, hard, intellects, spouting out proper gander, politics for one party only. No one has a choice. Communist party or. Many footsteps and, they wouldn’t have kept walking by.

 

Just a memory from my hotel bedroom in Russia many years ago.

© Fiona Cummings