Some dreams wake me up and leave me in a haze.
I remember seeing the dirty unreachable corners, between the bed and the bookshelf, between the TV stand and that chest of drawers. I remember the old red curtains, faded from continuous direct exposure to the sun, hanging from every one of the abundant windows and doorways. I remember the old paint peeling off the ancient walls.
The TV plays a cliche cinema about a rich girl falling in love with a poor guy. It’s always the same, with slightly different plot points every time. Everyone in the room knows all the actors and actresses and acts as if it were their story. There’s in-scene commentary. There’re sing-alongs every time a song comes up. They can’t count how many times they’ve watched each of these.
This has been bugging me for some time.
It’s not the first time I’ve started something only to loose interest somewhere down the line.
Wait. Let’s back up a bit. I used to be the person who was afraid of starting anything. The thought of anything new, or any change, to this day, makes me nervous, and I hate feeling uncomfortable. The start of something new is always a drastic change. It requires effort and constant getting used to. Continue reading “Daily Prompt: Unfinished”
She wished life’s choices could be as easy as the untinted windows of their car were clear.
In response to The Daily Post’s prompt, Clarity.
That Four-letter Word
Something crashed onto the bed, jerking Ella awake.
She opened her eyes, pressing them shut again at once. Someone had moved the curtains in the window, letting in morning sunlight. She felt something move next to her on her small bed. She sheltered her eyes from the light with a hand and pushed herself off of the lying position. She was amazed, and slightly scared to find a girl on the bed next to her.
The girl was dressed in the most peculiar fashion. Her clothes looked like the attire of men. She wore two grease stained gloves, which Ella could only see because the other girl was struggling to release herself from the ropes that held them behind her back. Her light brown hair was pulled into a messy tail and grease stains covered her face as well.
“What is the meaning of this, Adri?” she screeched.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Call Me Ishmael.”
“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.”
I was less than a decade old when I first detected the craze about Tolkien. I watched in awe as my brother plugged in a disk in the DVD player and sat in front of the TV for hours, crying. At times I wanted to ask him to get off the couch because at this rate I was going to miss the daily installment of Tom & Jerry again. Continue reading “There And Back Again”