I rummage through the bag. I find this piece of paper, ripped on the corners. A black pen resting beside it. I roll my sleeves. I gasped for air, licking my dry lips. I hear strange screams afar, like birds cawing for food. I felt odd with the sun glaring on my bare skin. The air was hot and humid. I had gone for a brisk walk. The sound of water crashed onto the shore. The restlessness of the motor boats humming quietly. As i write, my phone sits on my page, its earphones wrapped tightly around its body like a scrappy cage. The casing on the right earphone bud slowly unravels.
I scratch my head. Suddenly, my phone vibrates. I pull the red message icon, and read it, smiling to myself. I looked at the long winding path in front, the hot concrete burned as birds droppings gradually covered the grey with white patches. The sound of thongs hit the path, as I watched a young man striding quickly towards his car. Next, I see a middle-aged woman casually clutching the leash. The dog strays behind, she tugs the leash. As I write, I see the cut on my right hand widen. The dark red blood trickling towards my pen. As I write, ants scurry directionless like scribble over my writing.
"I can't take this anymore." Abruptly, I turned.
The stroller stood squarely behind me. I watch, as the mum firmly puts the little boy down. He screams and wails. Soon, they reach the path, the mum sighed and reluctantly picked him up again. He stopped crying. Next, I see a couple, hands touched, eyes shyly cast down. The young woman wearing a lovely white singlet and floral skirt. Her skin glowed with the autumn sun. I hear the strange howling screams again. More animal-like than before. As i write, I'm reaching the bottom of the page, my phone balances precariously above.
I look down, the morning dew expiring on my feet. The shadow below the tree diminishing slowly. I wriggle in my shoes. It was the kind of sneaker shoes, with the velcro strips instead of long messy laces. I sit down, exasperated, scanning the calm water. I think I see a butterfly fluttering, it may be a small bird though. I glance at the time. Midday. I begin to hear my stomach rumbling. As I write, the world around me doesn't change. Birds chirp to a strange song, motors run in a low hum, the cut on my hand grows worse. I flick the ants away. As I write, it is only for me and I change.
I scratch my head. Suddenly, my phone vibrates. I pull the red message icon, and read it, smiling to myself. I looked at the long winding path in front, the hot concrete burned as birds droppings gradually covered the grey with white patches. The sound of thongs hit the path, as I watched a young man striding quickly towards his car. Next, I see a middle-aged woman casually clutching the leash. The dog strays behind, she tugs the leash. As I write, I see the cut on my right hand widen. The dark red blood trickling towards my pen. As I write, ants scurry directionless like scribble over my writing.
"I can't take this anymore." Abruptly, I turned.
The stroller stood squarely behind me. I watch, as the mum firmly puts the little boy down. He screams and wails. Soon, they reach the path, the mum sighed and reluctantly picked him up again. He stopped crying. Next, I see a couple, hands touched, eyes shyly cast down. The young woman wearing a lovely white singlet and floral skirt. Her skin glowed with the autumn sun. I hear the strange howling screams again. More animal-like than before. As i write, I'm reaching the bottom of the page, my phone balances precariously above.
I look down, the morning dew expiring on my feet. The shadow below the tree diminishing slowly. I wriggle in my shoes. It was the kind of sneaker shoes, with the velcro strips instead of long messy laces. I sit down, exasperated, scanning the calm water. I think I see a butterfly fluttering, it may be a small bird though. I glance at the time. Midday. I begin to hear my stomach rumbling. As I write, the world around me doesn't change. Birds chirp to a strange song, motors run in a low hum, the cut on my hand grows worse. I flick the ants away. As I write, it is only for me and I change.
