Late February 2018, after one of the most stressful days in a life already overwhelmed by stress, I returned to my parents' house on Krunska Street in Belgrade. Slipping into bed, I intended to shut out the day, but less than an hour later, I awoke abruptly, my eyelids and cheeks moist. Above me, what initially seemed like fog had gathered around the ceiling fans located above the finely carved bookshelves. Confused by this intrusion of fog from outside, and shaking my head vigorously, I attempted to reconcile the present with my memory. Next, I went to the front window and perched on the ledge. The street outside was clear, bathed in the lemon-tinged hues of streetlights mingling with the approaching dawn.
Leaning against the windowpane, I considered the possibility that steam had formed overhead but couldn't pinpoint its source. Returning to bed, I closed my eyes, hoping this was a mere nightmare spawned from a stressful day. Briefly closing my eyes from fear, I soon surrendered to curiosity and reopened them. The steam now appeared like rolling nebulous clouds above the bed and thickening began to resemble sheaths of lamb's wool. Desperate, I found a T-shirt, shorts, and shoes, but no socks, and excitedly recalling a light switch near the library door, felt along the wall. Panic set in as I flipped the switches to no avail.
Opening the door and entering the front reception room, now also filled with steam, I sought more switches but found none. Rushing to the front foyer, and opening the door to Krunska Street, I was captivated by the contrast between the nightmare behind and the tranquility outside. Krunska ran the length of Vracar—the name of the district—and was split by a two-meter-wide grass lane adorned by chestnut trees, boast sides boasting repurposed Habsburg mansions now housing various embassies and schools.
Drawn back by the clang of changing traffic lights, I investigated the steam's source. The door slammed behind me, revealed wisps of damp grey clouds escaping the basement entrance. Suspecting a burst pipe, I flung it open, only to be met with a forceful blast of steam. Placing my cell phone on a ledge, I shouted into the steam-filled stairs. An eerie feeling enveloped me, signaling the alignment of present and past. Proceeding blindly down the staircase, my hands guiding me, I halted abruptly on the bottom step. Before me lay a shimmering pond, its surface reflecting the light streaming through the basement window, resembling the sheen of a freshly sharpened knife blade.
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