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_It has since become a tradition where no streamers or balloons are hung, but there she is. No red carpet is rolled out if she steps inside; she pauses a moment on the threshold. It’s as if she’s surveying the scene; haste hardly exists for her._
At first glance, the shelter seems empty, except for José, sitting on a chair by the door. He seems to be in dreamland, as he doesn’t react when she stands before him, studying his face. "Hey...?" No response follows. José snores cheerfully on, a faint smile playing on his lips. He’s clearly at ease and looks much better since he stopped working in the mines and playing with explosives. "Hello? Anyone home?" she asks, but the only reply is the snoring of the man who once thought he knew everything but now lives a reclusive life, keeping to himself.
In the kitchen attached to the centre, the kettle is on, and sunlight streams through the window. A cheerfully crocheted curtain hangs there, making the place seem less like a dreary shed—strangely enough, those who sleep here on camp beds still feel welcome. She puts the biscuits in the cupboard and glances at the dog rolling in the grass outside. It’s the first time she’s seen the animal, and oddly enough, it looks pink. She blinks and steps closer to the window. Indeed, she’s seeing correctly, it’s a pink specimen. *Exactly the colour of the Pink Panther*, she thinks. What a strange sight. If it hadn’t had fur, it could have been the colour of its skin. Had someone painted the fur?* In bewilderment, she watches as the dog, clearly spotting someone, happily bounds toward a person she can’t see at all. She couldn’t explain it. Anyone can suffer from hallucinations if they’re tired and haven’t slept enough, she thinks, lifting the kettle from the stove and pouring herself a cup of tea. The dog now seems to be following someone. Every now and then, it stops and looks up attentively, as if listening to the confessions of an outcast no one wants to speak to. It’s like something you’d only see in movies, but the bitter reality for those sleeping on camp beds in a community centre that the locals refuse to use.
"Tea!" One by one, the residents shuffle into the kitchen to enjoy the Sunday ritual, which usually lasts no longer than an hour and a half. José is the last to join. "Slept well?" she asks. He smiles sheepishly. "Never mind," says the elderly woman with the bandaged hand, rescued by Janes from the fire before a coughing fit overwhelmed her, and Janes carried her out of the kitchen. "It’ll be alright," she hears him say. "Just rest a bit. I’m sure Mother will be glad for your company. I’ll bring you a cup of tea, and if you’d like another biscuit, try soaking it in the tea first, it’ll go down easier." She smiles and sinks into the beanbag, from which she couldn’t rise, but it doesn’t matter; it feels lovely and soft. "You will come back, won’t you?" she asks. "You can count on me. I don’t make vague promises, I’m a man of my word."
As he walks into the hallway, the front door is kicked in, and a group of armed men storm inside. "Hands up! This is a raid! Anyone who moves a muscle won’t live to regret it. Line up against the wall, faces against the wall, now, quick!"
A gunshot sounds out in the room where the two elderly women are left behind.
_{21.5.25
Prompts used:
vague promises
anyone can
tradition
confessions
outburst
movies
explain
Exodus: 12
@almaguer
Original text: Dutch
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