Secrets of a Handbag

What if a bag could talk? 

How many interest thing she could tell? How many stories may she 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 meantime, 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

Listen, this thing about the inanimate objects needs to stop. Inanimate objects my foot! We have a soul. We feel cold, hot, tiredness and boredom. We see, we listen, we get angry, we feel joy, frustration, and disgust. You should hear the stories train seats and park benches have to tell, not to mention movie theatre’s seats. Us, inanimate objects, are used to some pretty heavy stuff and are subjected to tribulation you can’t even imagine.

Buses, for instance, are like hell for one like me. I get slithered, squashed and hit without mercy. Even the one who should care about me tends to neglect me in such agitated moments. That’s why I end up flattened against a scribbled seat or rested on the filthy floor. And believe me, it is filthy.

In the past, I risked a nervous breakdown due to this kind of situations. Oh, yeah. I’ve come close to that. But I have aged enough now, somehow I managed to survive and get used to it. I don’t get agitated anymore. Now I know: it’s useless and I’ve learnt to endure it with resignation.

Today the bus is particularly crowded. It’s all Elisa’s fault. As usual, she was late and she couldn’t catch the previous bus. Now she has a magazine in her hand, two grocery’s bags in the other. Her iPod is in her jacket with an earpiece dangling at her right ear, while her cell phone is pressed between her shoulder and her left ear. It’s not surprising I ended up on the floor, between the bus wall and her feet.

She always have too many things to do, too many things on her mind. She should learn to say no some times or she’s going to make a mess of things.

Judging by the way this cacophonous bus jolts around, it seems we are getting near our stop. Thank goodness. I can’t stand this floor anymore. Elisa gets up from her seat and stagger towards the exit door.

No. No.

No. No. No.

Come on! This can’t be true! You can’t do this to me.

Damn! These are the moments when I wish I could scream or wave an arm. Elisa, please, turn around. Turn around. Oh, how can you not see I’m not with you!

The bus stops. Elisa gets down. And I remain here, laid on the bus floor.

We were talking about making a mess of things, right?


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