Mind the Gap is a collection of fiction short stories. They vary in style, themes, tone, characters and length. The aim is to provide a different lens colour to look to reality. It's also the sandbox where I tried different voices, where I experimen...
It's late night. The servants are quietly sleeping downstairs. Through the open window you hear the cheerful sound of the water playing on the fountain and a dog barking, warning his owners somewhere in the distance. You sigh as a current caresses your naked skin. The end of the summer gifts random breezes that dance with the silk curtains. This is your preferred time of the year, when the hot and the cold take turns and the air smells announcing the rain that will soon come. You have been alone for some time now. First you bought your freedom with the fortune of your deceased father, then you fought to keep it using the poetry as a sword, finally you rejected the shackles of a so called protector. People in the streets still say he didn't want to marry you. No woman in the caliphate compares to you in talent or beauty. No man either. But you don't care. You can't sleep. The guests tonight were upset because you didn't want to share a poem. Even at your house your have to claim the land of your independence. Rumors say that you are sad because you've lost your lover at the hands of a slave. They don't know you selected her for that purpose. You still miss his poetry though. You can very well distinguish between the divine wine and the tattered vessel that contains it. You smile. Sad for a lover? How absurd the idea! Your lovers were sometimes burden, sometimes distraction, but love, real love they could not give you. Tomorrow you will walk the streets of Cordova, your skirt embroidered with your motto. Tomorrow the city will see again your lose red hair and they will murmur behind your back because nobody confronts a princess. Tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow and even after, you will pray to the Almighty for his blessings because only them can fill your heart. You will beg him for his protection and that of your disciples, free spirits scattered all over Al Alandalus. You feel the sweetness of the sleep approaching and you let a last sentence leave your lips, your beautiful blue eyes already closed. "Oh Allah! We are your channel, we, the artists, receive the light of your fire".
Author's note: if you want to know more about this interesting woman use the link below.
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