anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

like in a motion picture

The scene: An MRT station. Slightly crowded, but not enough to stifle. A train approaches the platform. The doors open, and a young girl walks in. She lifts her head to meet the kiss of the cool air from the air-conditioner, and, looking around, finds a place to sit. She sits. She opens her bag. She takes out a pen and her journal. She starts writing. Her hand hurts as it struggles to keep up with the lines that are erupting in her head, and she feels her chest constricting as she desperately records every emotion, every fault, every thought, and every wrongdoing that is consuming her. What started out as therapy has become her salvation.

The scene: A busy urban centre in a cosmopolitan city, most recently deemed "developed". People moved in packs, with brisk pace, unsmiling and cold. A man on crutches sings on a harmonica. In front of him is a yellow money box with the words "thank you" stencilled across in red. The people hustled to and fro, and this steady stream never ends. They look straight ahead, their senses fully developed, their pockets heavy with gold. And they do not stop.

The scene: A classroom of 29 in a prestigous school. Girls in blue uniforms talk and laugh. They gather in groups and make the best out of their day in school. A girl sits by herself with at her table, staring into space. While her friends around her discuss the latest flash-in-the-pan, she fixes her gaze on somewhere that they can't see, and is sacred to her heart. She thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks, and the voices in her head talks and talks and talks and talks. Her chest constricts. Her head throbs. She is always seeking contentment in solitude. Always reluctant to talk about herself. And the buzz of activity around her makes her bitter heart ache for her own happiness, her own fulfillment, that has yet to take place. She thinks somemore, and sits at her table, all the while lost in thought.

And finally, she begins to drown.

Tags: angst, prose

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