“I don’t have to worry, life goes where it goes ”, she repeated to herself in a strange tone of unbelief as she stood there unmoved and expressionless in front of the mirror as a stagnant stentorian from the passing train stood next to her caressing her ears. The room appeared to be a small bathroom , 7 by 10 feet to be more accurate, a bifurcated window and loud exhaust on it’s upper side where it’s only graces that let some light and stale air in, it‘s tiles originally white now where now stained yellow with pigeon guano . If it weren’t for the basin, and cracked ceramic commode the room would look more like a prison cell than a lavatory.
She in a sudden movement stepped back and almost as quickly sat herself on the leaky, cracked commode. Her face was sullen, face pale and her eyes in an almost teary red stayed their beaded in a melancholy that would melt stone.
She got her knees together pressing them together, sandwiching her hands, pulling her stomach in, crouching her shoulder up all in the manner to reflect how insignificantly microscopic she was feeling. First came a low pitched nasal whimper which started to flow out of the nostrils with slowly gained momentum , she began to shake and tremble as her brow broke sweat and her lone whimper turned to groans and her groans to crying. She cries for a good 10 minutes till even her cries and anguish are drowned by the roar of yet another passing train. Crying is a strange emotion an almost animalistic release of emotion that may be the only archaic method of emoting, darwinian man has retained. As abruptly as the tears starting flowing they stopped leaving her face unadorned yet visibly distressed. She then proceeded to pick up her bag from the floor and clicked open it’s butterfly clip and jabbed her hand into it screening through the purse’s contents with touch. Out come some wrinkly tissue paper, examining it for a second she proceeds to whip the remnants of tears from her face. Getting up glancing at the mirror she straightens her hair, dusting off the cobwebs and dirt as she checks her teeth, holding her lips up a face one makes to look scary.
Thinking to herself, “It’s all in my mind and I want it to be.”
Note : - I'm trying my hand at fiction again. You could read part 2 if you come around next week. Comments appreciated as always, suggestion would be also.Also a thanks to Phal told me what she thought about it.
1 comments:
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Nick said...
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Hey, I read this the day that you first posted it (thanks, Bloglines!) -- but I had the strange feeling to read it again tonight.
I like it. There are some big words ("nmoved and expressionless in front of the mirror as a stagnant stentorian" is a mouthful to start with), but that's OK. The bifurcated window, the guano, the microscoping heroine. It's a pleasant read, and I'm looking forward to Part 2 whenever you have "free" writing time. -
September 12, 2005 8:36 AM
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