I woke up one morning, the same morning as always. Yesterday's clothes? Impeccable, just like the day before. This routine, to which I had been accustomed all my life, had become my oxygen, my way of surrendering to the inexorable passage of time.
Like every day, I grab a rag and clean the tables in the tavern, starting with the ones closest to the bar and ending with those bathed in the rays of sunlight that burst through the entrance.
“Good morning, daughter,” my mother's voice echoed through the pine planks that formed the walls of our family business.
“Good morning, Mom.”
“You woke up early, is it a special day?” She yawned as she spoke, her tavern keeper attire slightly disheveled.
“No more special than yesterday. I've been restless for several days.”
We were the Gerti's, mother and daughter. Innkeepers by blood, a business that once pocketed a good amount of coins daily. But since my father's incident with those cursed medicinal herbs, our beloved family business had turned into a prison. The only difference was that he was imprisoned several days away in Clena, and we hadn't seen his face for so long that I had almost started to forget his features.
“Yesterday they asked for apples, lots of apples, so I'm taking Brisa to Archos,” my mother gestured as she responded to her murmurs. “People have such strange cravings these days!”
Iván Baya
