Photo by Mathurin NAPOLY / matnapo on Unsplash.
Writing inspired by the following SWC prompt:
Hibernacle
The word hibernacle comes from the Latin word hibernus meaning wintery and refers to the hideaways small mammals use to stay safe until spring appears. What and where is the hibernacle in the story? Why does your character need it?
Leyla’s choice
by Sandra Voelker
The persistent knocking on the door sent sound waves through the apartment.
“Open up! We know you are in there!”
Bang, bang, bang, it went on.
“Open up! Please! We will have to break the door down.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Louder again.
Leyla thought she could hear the rattling of the door hinges, which were silver, a matte, dull silver, not shiny like her chandelier. Leyla looked up at the ceiling and saw the elegant light fixture with its countless crystal pendants and chains. Another round of loud banging. Then rustling, shuffling and loud murmurs in the vast stairwell outside her third-floor apartment. She could hear shrill drilling. They were not going to break down the wooden door after all.
The sound faded and Leyla’s attention went back to the chandelier. A few stray rays of sunlight had found their way through the cloudy sky and through the double-paned windows, bouncing between the crystal pendalogues, prisms and columns. The stream of winter light meandered playfully into Leyla’s brain, where her synapses lay tired and asleep. She wanted to call out “I am here!” but nothing moved, not her tongue, not her arm, not her body and, to her surprise, not even her brain. She was not sure if she could even think in the form of words anymore.
Which was a state of being that should frighten her endlessly, but inexplicably did not. Leyla registered the hard parquet floorboards beneath her, or maybe she did not, and just remembered their solidity. She tried to remember how she had gotten there, but she could not hold on to that effort either, so she gave up trying to force her thoughts into shapes or words. More sunlight played with the crystal chandelier drops and the beauty of the light filled Leyla with peace. It was the blue and clear light of winter. Leyla was not sure if she could move her eyes or her eyelids, but she enjoyed the bouncing play of light that seemed to include her, dancing and skirting between the crystal drops and her eyes, weaving a protective net of light around her.
Another loud bang, the metallic crack of a broken drill and impatient, urgent cursing reached Leyla for a moment.
Another loud bang, the metallic crack of a broken drill and impatient, urgent cursing reached Leyla for a moment.
“Ms. Leyla – if you are in there. We will be with you in a few moments.”
Leyla did not understand what they wanted from her. It was peaceful and quiet here and they were disturbing her. She wanted to keep watching the blue light, but something was bothering her, nudging her in the back of her muddled mind, trying to talk to her. She could almost grasp the meaning, but her head hurt…
Wait!
Her head hurt? Why? And with that question a floodgate opened, and her memory came back. The pain. She was on the floor. She must have had a stroke. She had no clear recollection of the day, but she certainly remembered the tsunami wave of red-orange pain that raced through her brain, toppling her like a Christmas tree in December.
The realization sank in and the world shifted around her. She had just turned 75. Not so old, but of course her father had died at that age. Leyla tried to do a body scan but it was useless. She could not feel anything nor could she move. Could she breathe? Or was her nervous system and lungs shutting down as well?
Another, higher pitched drilling sound shattered her thoughts.
Another, higher pitched drilling sound shattered her thoughts.
“Hold on Ms. Leyla! We will be there soon.”
It must be the paramedics. She had felt nauseous and called her friend and then, then she could not remember clearly, but then she must have fallen.
Could she hold on? Did she want to hold on? Was she paralyzed? Did she feel a slight tingling in her toes? All these questions, popping up from the sluggish mass that was her brain, overwhelmed her.
Could she hold on? Did she want to hold on? Was she paralyzed? Did she feel a slight tingling in her toes? All these questions, popping up from the sluggish mass that was her brain, overwhelmed her.
Leyla tried to move her lips, to call out again, but to no avail.
She should feel panic, but the terror of her situation was removed, behind a dull and dusty pane of glass, and she was on the other side. Leyla did not think she was having an out of body experience, she did not see herself from above, it rather felt like this unpleasant situation was someone else’s business. Not hers. She was uncertain if she wanted to deal with it. Above her, the chandelier was the center of a spectacle of light. The winter sun must be high in the sky now to send its brilliant messengers at this angle.
Like fireflies with an agenda, they flitted and buzzed between the crystal elements and her eyes. Back and forth they bounced and Leyla thought they were dancing just for her. They reminded her of the weaver birds she had encountered in southern Africa, where they built enormous nests. Leyla wasn’t sure if the people outside her door would make it in time, she would like them to, but at this moment she didn’t consider their timely arrival an urgency. The dancing lights wove their nest around her, a blue winter nest, she thought, like a hibernacle.
Although she still could not move any of her muscles consciously, some tension seemed to leave her body. The floorboards beneath made room for her. The darting rays continued to build a womb-like, protective hibernacle around her. Leyla had always liked the idea of mammals hibernating. When she was younger, she had disliked the colder seasons, but that had changed over time and she now preferred winter to summer, though spring was still her favorite time of year. Leyla had always liked new beginnings.
She would like a new beginning again.
This thought shot up from the dark part of her brain that the reflecting light had not yet reached. Now it was on the surface. Maybe the medics would make it. Maybe not. Her focus narrowed and the world outside her nest began to blur. There was another screeching drilling sound that stopped abruptly and then a loud push.
“We are in, Ms. Leyla. Where are you?”
The sound of trampling feet indicated that at least several people were trying to get into her apartment. Leyla sighed, and she could not tell if the sigh just happened in her brain or if there was microscopic movement in her chest. She could sense discomfort and serious pain trying to wriggle their way through the safe blanket of paralysis. In the comfort of her blue and bright cave, she was hesitant to reach for the pain that would surely accompany her on the way back. For an eternal instance, Leyla debated whether it was time to leave her nest. But then again, outside her window, spring was about to come.
Thank you for sharing your stories here!
Very touching piece Sandra. Thanks for sharing it.
This is marvelous, Sandra. I don’t know if having a stroke feels like that or not, but you evoked so well the strange feeling of being content in helpless and immobility.
What a great piece Sandra. I love the sense of removal from reality. A great imagining of what it might be like to have a stroke.