From my head, to yours

In the midst of that dreary stillness, between the reverberating gyrations of the electric fan near her bedside… and the muffled chatter from the television outside her murky, lifeless room. Her somnolent body lay on its back, draped with a thick balmy blanket. Her face tilted up staring blankly above the sallow coarse ceiling.

She wafted to some place, feeling the rough road of that new land on her feet, breathing in that unfamiliar air, lavishing the grandeur of the view… taking in that perfection.

Within her, she sensed that overwhelming need to run. So she did.

How merrily she jogged towards the horizon, wondering to herself, what might be beyond that. The sun was up high, shining brightly and proudly down on her, and on all that beauty of nature. Zephyrs softly brushed the thicket of grass lining beside the road. Trees gently swayed in harmonious beat casting shadows on her path.

She slowed down to a stop, in front of her was a flowering shrub, she stooped down to admire it. It was painted in pink and white dots, and green for the leaves. And she thought what a sight it is. These lovely blossoming little flowers, she simply must pick one.

She lifted her hands up, and carefully moved them forth the tiny spec of a flower.

Then she heard a noise…

Rousing her up from that quixotic reverie,

Again, she could clearly hear the rhythmic whirr of the electronic fan. There was the gloomy light coming from her bedside lamp, the clumped clutter left for days on her bed, her warm blanket, the scintillating book she had been reading, and the same four corners of her bedroom. The four corners that she got stuck up in almost a year now.

- - - -

Is it not great, how imagination can take you on a free traverse to somewhere fantastic? (Especially when you are bored, or if you don’t have any money to buy tickets to go somewhere.)

You could create imaginary worlds, things, and people…

Anything;

- - - -


Darkness swallowed the night. The putrid stink of seclusion drifts afloat the lifeless room. An opened window attracted queer noises from outside. But she still lied on her bed, as tranquil as the evening.

A wintry breeze caressed her limp frightened body, cold sweat drew lines down her forehead, the nervous beating of her heart chewed her ears, and deleterious thoughts played gloomily in her head.

She raised her right arm at the ceiling, reaching out for that oblivion. Her shaky hands tried to grasp the empty air a couple of times, and she smirked at each attempt. Dissatisfied, she flaccidly placed it back down on her side. This time, she hoisted her left arm, and in all her acridity, let it clasp her black parched hair tightly.

She smirked again, and then she tugged.

The burning pain pierced through her senses.

She smirked, and tugged again more forcefully.

Her mind was in ecstasy. It was pure pleasure… swelling up inside her.

How she hated it.

She bit her lower lip… digging her teeth in on it, while her apathetic eyes stared vacantly at the sallow coarse ceiling above her head. Sinking her teeth in… cutting
it… rupturing the delicate skin…

Until it bled.

- - - -

It is such an event to me, when I write with the focus of human emotions. I am still new with this bit though. Imagination truly is infinite. And in believing so, possibilities would also be infinite.

`For in writing, I find my only bliss- GPD

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