All Stories by Ksenija KuĊĦec



Matrix
By Underpass Editors Posted on: 9/21/2015

Today is the day. What should I wear? High heels? Sure, it’s warm outside; I’ll put on peep toes. Jeans are good; they go with everything. White T-shirt, black jacket, to match the shoes. I wanna look like Trinity. In my belt, I put two pieces.

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Revolution
By Underpass Editors Posted on: 3/6/2016

Even as I’m climbing up the empty staircase, I just know it: I’m too late. The bankers have stripped my grandma’s place already. The front door has a hole in it where the lock should be, the door is half open. I guess they don’t care if someone just walks in and tries to steal something; everything worth stealing is gone already, all theirs now

I step in and the aromas of her life find me immediately. Stains on the wooden floors paint a blueprint for what once was there; the ceramic stove, the dresser, the china cabinet, the ficus. The wood is bloated where the plant used to be. Grandma was a chronic over waterer, as now am I.

The apartment seems much larger now that it’s empty. They left nothing behind, and now it’s too late to try stopping them. Sure, they sent me a letter of explanation, a jam of words like consent, obligations, rights, distraint, ownership, court order, resale. I barely read it. I thought I’d get here in time, before every last thing was gone. I just wanted a small memento; a photo maybe, or a vintage blouse. Grandma’s porcelain soup bowl, a small sugar bowl, even an ashtray. Something to remind me of grandma and her out-there ideas.

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