As she sits on the bench in the cool, silent lobby of the hospital, she watches as goosebumps erupted on her arms, making the fine hair stand erect. The cold hardness of the metal bench bites into whatever part of her skin touches it. She can hear her hearbeat protest loudly to the situation - nothing is going right. Something screams the truth that hasn't been revealed yet. Something - the reason provoking her goosebumps that have nothing to do with the stupid bench. Something - the stinging feeling deep in her eyes, pushing fat, saline drops out, making them roll down her pallid cheek, and new ones chase them down vigorously.
The scene morphs slowly, scarily into something else, something she cannot face. The hospital lobby twists and turns and fades into a dark, half-moonlit, eerily silent graveyard. She slowly raises her head to look at the growing shadow - he's back. He has risen from the grave of reality to take her as well. She meets his gaze with swollen, red eyes. His are black, with clean, emotionless whites. Behind him, the army stands again, graceless, dead statues, scrutinizing her face. Ignoring their piercing stares, she looks at him, waiting. For what? For decision to click in his eyes. For him to say that word - the word that will freeze her world. He looks up at her, no longer indecisive.
He has chosen.
He disappears back into the shadows of the grave. Traitor. Almost spitting with rage and hurt, she knows what will happen now. The army hasn't followed him. They haven't moved a muscle, eyes still locked on hers. Eyes filled with venom no one but she can see. She turns and starts running. Once again. Gasping, she trips over non-existent cracks and stones on the ground, or maybe her own feet. Desperately, she looks for a way out. But it seems the world is not in her favour. She can only keep running.
She is too scared and too tired to look back, but she can feel the footsteps gaining, the shadows lengthening, her feet slowing as pain shoots up her legs, crawling evilly over her fate. For a second, she wonders if she should just give up. What's the point of running all your life? But before the moment could pass, and she could regain her strength from a newly made decision that was not given a chance to come, hands. Hands on her shoulders, roughly pulling her back. Hands on her hips, back, legs, lifting her writhing, shrieking body up.
She knows she has lost now. There is no point in screaming. But she doesn't stop, as they religiously carry her back, ignoring her struggles. She squeezes her eyes shut, desperate to escape their robotic voices, the reality. The next thing she knows, the hands are gone, she is being set down on the ground, but the moment the relief from the filthy hands being removed starts to sweep over her, she winces from the harsh, loud metallic bang of the iron bars. Her eyes open, startled, to stare right into a pair of murderous eyes that withhold the realm of black truth in them. The eyes of reality.
She shifts slightly and again winces from the coldness of the hospital bench as she gets up. The nurses dressed up in white slowly help her stand up, smiling pitifully at her, a tiny smile that breaks her soul. They lead her frail, trembling body away from him, with gentle but firm hands. She doesn't struggle, she knows it's pointless. She doesn't look back, she knows he's there, eyes boring into her back, as he speaks with the doctor.
The scene morphs slowly, scarily into something else, something she cannot face. The hospital lobby twists and turns and fades into a dark, half-moonlit, eerily silent graveyard. She slowly raises her head to look at the growing shadow - he's back. He has risen from the grave of reality to take her as well. She meets his gaze with swollen, red eyes. His are black, with clean, emotionless whites. Behind him, the army stands again, graceless, dead statues, scrutinizing her face. Ignoring their piercing stares, she looks at him, waiting. For what? For decision to click in his eyes. For him to say that word - the word that will freeze her world. He looks up at her, no longer indecisive.
He has chosen.
He disappears back into the shadows of the grave. Traitor. Almost spitting with rage and hurt, she knows what will happen now. The army hasn't followed him. They haven't moved a muscle, eyes still locked on hers. Eyes filled with venom no one but she can see. She turns and starts running. Once again. Gasping, she trips over non-existent cracks and stones on the ground, or maybe her own feet. Desperately, she looks for a way out. But it seems the world is not in her favour. She can only keep running.
She is too scared and too tired to look back, but she can feel the footsteps gaining, the shadows lengthening, her feet slowing as pain shoots up her legs, crawling evilly over her fate. For a second, she wonders if she should just give up. What's the point of running all your life? But before the moment could pass, and she could regain her strength from a newly made decision that was not given a chance to come, hands. Hands on her shoulders, roughly pulling her back. Hands on her hips, back, legs, lifting her writhing, shrieking body up.
She knows she has lost now. There is no point in screaming. But she doesn't stop, as they religiously carry her back, ignoring her struggles. She squeezes her eyes shut, desperate to escape their robotic voices, the reality. The next thing she knows, the hands are gone, she is being set down on the ground, but the moment the relief from the filthy hands being removed starts to sweep over her, she winces from the harsh, loud metallic bang of the iron bars. Her eyes open, startled, to stare right into a pair of murderous eyes that withhold the realm of black truth in them. The eyes of reality.
* * *
She shifts slightly and again winces from the coldness of the hospital bench as she gets up. The nurses dressed up in white slowly help her stand up, smiling pitifully at her, a tiny smile that breaks her soul. They lead her frail, trembling body away from him, with gentle but firm hands. She doesn't struggle, she knows it's pointless. She doesn't look back, she knows he's there, eyes boring into her back, as he speaks with the doctor.
hey i luved ur blog n i think u xpress ur views whole heartedly
ReplyDeleteur writtings are very inspiring :)