Good night, Dublin


This is the second piece I wrote for the the "Good Night, Moscow" creative writing contest by American Center in Moscow. In this piece, I wanted to sing my love to Dublin, but also let my imagination run wild. The result is this fairy tale. Enjoy!

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As the airport bus whisks me to the city, I try not to doze off. It’s been a long day. Fields, trees, shrubs, hedges that are 50 shades of green flash by as I lean my forehead on the cold window. It’ll stop me from dozing off.

Goosebumps gradually cover my body, the contagion spread by the window. One thing about Ireland is how surprisingly lightly people are dressed. The bus is standing at the crossroads, waiting for the traffic lights to turn green, and what do I see, wearing my northern sweater and trying to contain the spread of goosebumps? Teenagers wearing shorts and t-shirts. It’s +2. I get even more goosebumps at the sight. The traffic lights turn green.

Entering the city. Crossing the O’Connell Bridge. More traffic lights. I scrutinize shop signs in Gaelic. “Siopa leabhar.” A man is rummaging by the entrance. Some bags and books and baskets. Not a garbage man. He isn’t wearing that toxic yellow jacket with luminescent stripes. Must be looking for something. He turns to look around. His face is lit by a lamp post. Red-haired and red-bearded, so quintessentially Irish, he turns and winks at me, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. I wink back.

“Grafton Street. Alight here for the St Stephen's Green LUAS stop.” I alight and dash to the siopa leabahr. No one is there. I look around and notice something out of the corner of my eye on the steps. A book. I pick it up, “How to Catch a Leprechaun.” I look around again. A flock of noisy weather-proof teenagers floats by. I shrug my shoulders and saunter back to the LUAS stop, book in hand, dazed.

“Leprechauns don’t exist, obviously,” I say to myself as I stare at the book on my armchair. “It’s been a long day, you must have dozed off and dreamed it,” I insist. The leprechaun on the cover winks at me, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. The journey is beginning to take its toll. The distant tap-tap-tapping lulls me to sleep. “Good night, Dublin.”

"Good night, good night, Irina, good night, good night," a voice mumbles quietly. A door creaks open and shut. There is a gentle rattling sound in the kitchen.

A terrifying thought shoots through my mind, “But what if he steals my chocolate?!” But my eyelids are as heavy as lead, so I let all-consuming slumber take full hold of me. When you travel in Ireland, that’s a risk you have to take.

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The cover image is a photo I took on a wondrous night walk in Dublin.   


Click to read my story "Good night, St Petersburg.

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