The Island of the Silence

The alarm rang at 5:12.

The noise cut the darkness like a knife.

Mara didn't move right away. It lay down the thin grey ceiling without rain and

stared at the ceiling, while the shrill ringing continues through the small

Hello.

It rained outside.

Not loud. Not stormy.

Only this uniform, endless rain that stands against the window of her bedroom

dripping and turning the city into a gray veil.

Mara used to love rain.

As a child, she had been sitting on the window for hours and watching the drop

slow down the glass. At that time, rain had knocked home.

Today he only sounded after another working day.

The ringing stopped.

It was quiet for a few seconds.

Then her phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Mara closed his eyes.

Not now.

Please, not now.

But the phone vibrated again.

And again.

She slowly turned her head.

The cold light of the screen cut through the darkness.

17 new emails.

Four missed calls.

Three messages from her boss.

Mara just stared at it for a few seconds.

It felt absurd.

The day had not even begun properly, and yet it was too late.

Too late with answers.

Too late with presentations.

Too late with expectations.

Maybe she suddenly thought she was too late for years.

The thought came quiet.

And remained.

She was tired.

Her back hurt from a few sleeps. The air in the bedroom was cool.

Somewhere it went through the old window.

The apartment was small. Two rooms on the eighth floor of a gray living block,

clamped between other apartments, other lives, other people who

probably woke up as exhausted in the morning as they did.

Sometimes Mara wondered how many people in this city secretly unhappy

were.

How many rose in the morning, even though each part of her body wanted to lie.

How many smiled, though they had no strength for it.

She grabbed her phone.

The first message was from her boss.

“Where are the numbers for the campaign?”

The second:

“The customer makes pressure.”

The third:

“Please report immediately.”

No good morning.

No question if she had slept at all.

Mara put the phone away slowly.

In her chest, this familiar severity spread out.

She didn't feel sad.

Not even really angry.

Just empty.

As if someone had taken everything out of it for years, until

only fatigue left.

Outside a bus went through the wet road.

The sound echoed between the houses.

The city woke up.

And Mara suddenly felt that she had never really slept.

She got up slowly.

The wooden floor was cold under her feet.

The light was bright in the bathroom. Too much for this time.

Mara blinked her mirror image.

She didn't recognize herself for a moment.

The woman in the mirror was older than twenty-nine.

Tired eyes.

Bubble skin.

Dark shadows under the eyelids.

When did she become that?

She remembered a different version of herself.

A younger Mara who wanted to travel.

They wanted to take pictures.

They dreamed of living by the sea once.

Earlier, she had collected small pictures of islands everywhere. Excerpts from

Magazines, photos of beaches, postcards with turquoise water.

Her mother had always laughed about it.

“You would be too impatient for such a life,” she said.

Maybe she was right.

Or maybe Mara had never stayed long enough to find out

who actually wanted to be her.

She turned up the tap and held her hands under the cold water.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

But even that felt exhausting.

In the kitchen it smelled like coffee.

A half-empty cup was still on the table from the eve. In addition,

unopened letters and a notebook full of hastily written appointments.

Mara hired the coffee machine.

The familiar sound filled the quiet apartment.

She used to love this moment in the morning.

The first coffee.

Quiet before the day.

Today the rest was exhausted.

While the machine worked, Mara went to the window.

From above, she could see a part of the city.

Grey roofs.

Wet roads.

People with dark umbrellas.

Everything seemed colorless.

Like someone in the world took all the colors slowly.

At the bottom of the cross, a man in the rain was waiting for the green lights. Next to him

stood a little girl in a yellow rain jacket.

The color was bright between all the gray.

The girl deliberately jumped into a puddle.

Water splashed up.

And although Mara could not recognize the child's face, she knew immediately,

that it laughed.

A strange pain went through her chest.

When did she stop looking forward to such things?

Maybe growing up was just that:

To forget how to stop.

The coffee machine piepte.

Mara took the cup and sat on the small kitchen table.

Your phone vibrated again.

This time she ignored it.

The rain ran slowly down the window.

A single trace of drops went over the glass.

Mara watched her lose thought.

And suddenly, she got a strange tiredness.

Not physical.

Lower.

A tiredness sitting somewhere in her soul.

She thought about today.

To the office.

On screens and voices and artificial light.

And for the first time since a long time she wondered honestly:

How long do I last?

The question scared her.

Because she didn't know the answer.

Maybe she had tried too long to be strong.

Too long as everything is fine.

People rarely noticed exhaustion immediately.

She came quiet.

Day by day.

Until someday even small things became hard.

Get up.

Answers.

Smile.

Continue working.

Mara drank a drink of coffee.

He was bitter.

Outside the sky began to become brighter.

A new day.

One more.

And while the city woke up under rain and grey clouds, Mara still knew

not that her life had already begun to change.

Slow down.

Almost insignificant.

Like the first movements of a wave far out on open sea.