Secrets of a Handbag
What if a bag could talk?
How many interest thing she could tell? How many stories she may know? How many secrets would she keep?
Elisa owns a very special and opinionated handbag, in which she keeps all of her life: her documents, her wallet but also the book she’s reading, her notes from University, her agenda with her professional contacts and more. When she forgets it on the bus, she is frantic. How is she going to live without it?
In the mean time, the handbag is found by the most improbable of the rescuers. A chemist who knows nothing about purses and can’t understand why anyone should carry all of that stuff around. His sense of responsibility pushes him to return the handbag.
Not the easiest task to accomplish…
My first novel, Secrets of a Handbag, will be available soon!
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Secrets of a Handbag – Prologue
This business of “inanimate objects” has to come to an end. Inanimate a damn thing! We have a soul. We suffer from cold and from heat, from tiredness and boredom. We see, we listen, we get angry and we feel joy, we can be frustrated and disgusted. You should listen to train seats or to the benches at the park, they have stories to tell. Not to mention cinema’s harmchairs. We, lifeless objects, see all sorts of things e are subjected to tribulations you can’t even imagine.
Let’s talk about busses, for instance. They are devastating for me. I’m scraped, squashed and struck without mercy. Even the one who should look after me, in these exhausting moments, ends up neglecting me. That’s how I end up pressed against a scribbled seat, or leant on the filthy floor. And, believe me, it’s filthy.
In the past I risked a breakdown in this kind of situations. Oh, yes. I got really close to that. But I’m older now and somehow I managed to survive and get used to it. I don’t worry anymore, I know it’s useless, and I endure all of this with resignation. After all I don’t like to complain.
Today the bus is particularly crowded. It’s all Elisa’s fault who was late, as usual, and she didn’t manage to catch the earlier bus. At the moment she has a magazine in one hand, two shopping bags in the other hand, her iPod is in the pocket and one earpiece dangle from her left ear. It’s not surprised to be on the floor, between the wall and her feet.
Always too many things to do, to many things to think about. She should learn to say no sometimes or she’s doomed to mess up everything.
Given the jolts I understand that this cacophonous bus is reching our stop. Thank goodness. I can’t stand this filthy floor any longer. Elisa stumbles up from her seat and goes nearer to the exit door.
No, no.
No, no, no.
For God’s sake! Why are you doing this to me?
Damn! These are the moments in which I would like to be able to scream or wave an arm. Elisa, turn! Turn, please. Oh, but how can you fail to notice I’m not with you!
Elisa gets down the bus. And I remain here, laid on the floor.
We were talking about messing up, right?
Great.
Irene Aprile 
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