06/25/2018
Fittleworth
21 Reviews
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Fittleworth
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Under the stairs
It was safe under the stairs.
They never got there.
I wonder if they didn't know about my hiding place
Or was it just too hard for them to find me there?
I was little, I was very thin, not to say scrawny.
I could easily climb into the dark cable shaft, which stretched under the whole building and whose entrance was under the basement stairs.
The cellar was old, just as the whole building was made of bricks, which may have been red once, but now had a dirty brown colour, which they had probably assumed over many years.
The unplastered basement staircase turned around itself three times before ending abruptly.
It was very quiet, there in the basement, which was divided into dozens of huge rooms, very quiet and very dark, although not completely dark. Brick dust danced in the light of the flashlight, which was strictly forbidden to me to possess just like all other children.
It was also forbidden for us to enter the cellar.
In years of practice I developed and refined the art of bypassing the watchful and suspicious caretaker and thus avoided that he would turn to our educators to squeal.
Brick dust permeated the old vault in all seasons, crunched between the teeth, was almost comforting in its earthy dryness.
Brick dust.
A smell that became my scent.
Dry, light, always the same, earthy, reliable, almost ... eternal.
It was a small world, down there, in the basement, under the stairs.
But for me it was great then, and worth exploring.
So whenever I could, I withdrew as inconspicuously as possible from the supervision of the educators and the society of the flocks of children and looked for a way down
The cellar also housed the catacombs of the huge, hall-like laundry room, and so the bitter, almost severe smell of the ubiquitous brick dust mixed with the mist of clean, freshly washed laundry, which dried in the cold season on endlessly long linen in the cellar This haze interwoven inextricably with the penetrating aroma of the dull-white soap blocks, which were used in addition to the more chemically smelling washing powder ...
The heating for the entire, not exactly small building was also located in the labyrinthine rooms of this cellar.
A certain warmth, even this very dry and rather mild, enveloped me whenever I descended the stairs in the dim light of the lonely, naked light bulb.
And this warmth, which radiated through the brick walls of the boiler room, was marked by a ... yes, scent, which is hard to describe, but which was just as comforting as the earthy aroma of the brick dust and the soapy cleanliness of the laundry vapour ...
If there could have been anything like security for a child in this cold, repulsive, frightening house, then it was down there, in the dark, under the stairs.
Now, unexpectedly and suddenly, all those long forgotten memories have returned.
Returned to me, and so will I. Wiped away, wiped out are all the years that have passed since then like fine sand between my fingers.
I'm going back.
Return to the brick house, return to the basement.
Under the stairs.
Triggered by a fragrance I bought without knowing it before.
I had expected a citric, fresh perfume, and a first, very brief impression seemed to confirm that.
LeoCerno Uomo opens, however, if you take more than just a fleeting moment of your time, with a pleasantly dry, hardly citric note, which in my case involuntarily awakens memories of the earthy, comforting, reliable scent of the bricks.
Citric echoes are weak, but remain very much in the background.
My olfactory memory is reinforced by a fine, clean, slightly soapy bouquet, which is present, but without penetrance, combined with a dry opening.
It is a dark scent, but without any threat, which I find soothing and which gives me a feeling of security.
The light, soapy and clear coolness remains, but is contrasted by a gentle warmth that gradually rises and gives the fragrance a structure, a scaffolding, as it were.
I suppose that this warmth comes from an extremely discreet, almost filigree light, even basically transparent honey note, the origin of which I cannot recognize.
Gradually, the individual aromas, which can be perceived in the beginning or decidedly, blur into each other, so that a very well-balanced total work of art is created, which is excellently balanced and neither modern nor arbitrary in appearance.
In fact, it is a masculine fragrance that should be sparingly dosed and that has an exorbitant shelf life. Something vaguely familiar vibrates in his projection, something difficult to grasp ...
Déjà-vu ...
(I have borrowed this text from my story "Under the Stairs")
They never got there.
I wonder if they didn't know about my hiding place
Or was it just too hard for them to find me there?
I was little, I was very thin, not to say scrawny.
I could easily climb into the dark cable shaft, which stretched under the whole building and whose entrance was under the basement stairs.
The cellar was old, just as the whole building was made of bricks, which may have been red once, but now had a dirty brown colour, which they had probably assumed over many years.
The unplastered basement staircase turned around itself three times before ending abruptly.
It was very quiet, there in the basement, which was divided into dozens of huge rooms, very quiet and very dark, although not completely dark. Brick dust danced in the light of the flashlight, which was strictly forbidden to me to possess just like all other children.
It was also forbidden for us to enter the cellar.
In years of practice I developed and refined the art of bypassing the watchful and suspicious caretaker and thus avoided that he would turn to our educators to squeal.
Brick dust permeated the old vault in all seasons, crunched between the teeth, was almost comforting in its earthy dryness.
Brick dust.
A smell that became my scent.
Dry, light, always the same, earthy, reliable, almost ... eternal.
It was a small world, down there, in the basement, under the stairs.
But for me it was great then, and worth exploring.
So whenever I could, I withdrew as inconspicuously as possible from the supervision of the educators and the society of the flocks of children and looked for a way down
The cellar also housed the catacombs of the huge, hall-like laundry room, and so the bitter, almost severe smell of the ubiquitous brick dust mixed with the mist of clean, freshly washed laundry, which dried in the cold season on endlessly long linen in the cellar This haze interwoven inextricably with the penetrating aroma of the dull-white soap blocks, which were used in addition to the more chemically smelling washing powder ...
The heating for the entire, not exactly small building was also located in the labyrinthine rooms of this cellar.
A certain warmth, even this very dry and rather mild, enveloped me whenever I descended the stairs in the dim light of the lonely, naked light bulb.
And this warmth, which radiated through the brick walls of the boiler room, was marked by a ... yes, scent, which is hard to describe, but which was just as comforting as the earthy aroma of the brick dust and the soapy cleanliness of the laundry vapour ...
If there could have been anything like security for a child in this cold, repulsive, frightening house, then it was down there, in the dark, under the stairs.
Now, unexpectedly and suddenly, all those long forgotten memories have returned.
Returned to me, and so will I. Wiped away, wiped out are all the years that have passed since then like fine sand between my fingers.
I'm going back.
Return to the brick house, return to the basement.
Under the stairs.
Triggered by a fragrance I bought without knowing it before.
I had expected a citric, fresh perfume, and a first, very brief impression seemed to confirm that.
LeoCerno Uomo opens, however, if you take more than just a fleeting moment of your time, with a pleasantly dry, hardly citric note, which in my case involuntarily awakens memories of the earthy, comforting, reliable scent of the bricks.
Citric echoes are weak, but remain very much in the background.
My olfactory memory is reinforced by a fine, clean, slightly soapy bouquet, which is present, but without penetrance, combined with a dry opening.
It is a dark scent, but without any threat, which I find soothing and which gives me a feeling of security.
The light, soapy and clear coolness remains, but is contrasted by a gentle warmth that gradually rises and gives the fragrance a structure, a scaffolding, as it were.
I suppose that this warmth comes from an extremely discreet, almost filigree light, even basically transparent honey note, the origin of which I cannot recognize.
Gradually, the individual aromas, which can be perceived in the beginning or decidedly, blur into each other, so that a very well-balanced total work of art is created, which is excellently balanced and neither modern nor arbitrary in appearance.
In fact, it is a masculine fragrance that should be sparingly dosed and that has an exorbitant shelf life. Something vaguely familiar vibrates in his projection, something difficult to grasp ...
Déjà-vu ...
(I have borrowed this text from my story "Under the Stairs")
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