Visual Satisfaction

She puts the glass to her lips and leans her head back, letting the last few drops slip inside her mouth. She places the glass back and leans against the sofa back, landing her feet on the table. She hits the remote, and music begins to flow through the stereo at the corner; beautiful wordless music. She taps her foot and nods her head slightly, with her eyes closed as the melody strikes in high and low notes.

It is a fact that the peace of the moments never lasts as long as you want it to, and as the phone rings, it jostles her awake, she hits her foot on the glass at the table, as she gets up. She hears it crash, a reverberating sound, and looks at it in disbelieve. It looks whole from her angle. She forgets about the phone and settles into the sofa, looking at the glass that rolls from side to side on the glass top of the coffee table, slowing down. The glass is broken. Quarter of its length, one third of its width has broken off, and it rests a little further away, whole.

How queer, two things so whole, yet together they are broken. She doesn’t register the phone as it clicks off. She puts the glass upright, leaving the chipped off piece further away. She leans forward, and runs her finger on the smooth edge of the cut glass. Smooth until it cut through her flesh, stinging and drawing blood. She sits still at the alien sight. She watches as the red drops drip, staining the glass and the coffee table. She snatches a couple of tissues and wipes off the blood. Pressing onto the finger until none leaks anymore.

She looks at it curiously, the cut has formed white edges, and red wells up deep inside. It is a sight so rare, so mysterious to her; the one who has always suffered unseen pain, with no visual aid to it, it fascinates her. She draws the broken glass closer, running her fingers over it, letting it prickle and wound, allowing it to coat it all red, finding satisfaction in the graphics of her pain.

-Momina.

Red Shadows

Her big kohl lined eyes peered from behind a pair of rectangular frames which were slightly askew. Her eyes were dark and intent, seemingly different and apart from the rest of her face which was distorted and twisted in pain. She breathed heavily, her mouth slack as she tried to utter words that were already lost.  Her hand clutched her side that was smeared with red, seeping through her pastel colored clothes, turning them dark and ugly.

Fear flicked through her eyes, her breath coming in jagged whispers. Hands gripped thin air _the wound forgotten_ splattering a few drops of blood on her clear face. Her hand fell back, all motion sudden and then halted, forever. Stillness and musk swayed in the air, pausing every movement and silencing every noise; except for the blood, that continued to gush from her side.

-Momina.

Poisoning dreams

For Adoniah- "Taking it to the next level."

She lay there as the poison seeped through the blood circulating inside her. She lay there numb to the pain and the slight burning that she was supposed to feel. She lay dazed while her muscles and bones mashed into one another, as she repeatedly hit her head against the brick wall. Immune to the pain. She shifted her head, gazing at the blood stained pillow. Alarmed she got up suddenly, only to realize that it was her own, yet she did not bleed.  It dribbled towards her, bubbling vivid red with just a slight tinge of purple. Glowing. She was intimidated, wanting to touch it, but holding back. She backed away, abruptly falling as the room around her turned to a blur, however she never touched the ground, As if the air had halted but she was still falling. There wasn’t blood anymore, but water; pure and colorless. It fell all around her, everywhere, except on her. She cringed away as a drop fell on her, scared. Out of the blue, she was knocked down, falling into a garden, unscathed. As she rose she noticed the rain, which came down heavy and bruised her skin. It turned red, burning red and felt like pinching shards of glass on her skin. She started to run but fell too often, while someone pulled her and her eyes twitched. She rose from her dream as she dreamt on, as the poison seeped through and she slept on.

-Momina.

Such serene moments...

She lay there, among a cascade of sheets, hands behind her head and ankle carelessly crossed; Days old red nail-polish chipping off.  The fan whirs above too loud for the quiet that surrounds her, the lights too harsh for her seemingly serene moments, the atmosphere to formal for her casual posture. She sits in a place too unlike herself… too formal. Her mind is another place to be, nothing like her posture or the décor around; it’s mayhem of thoughts, a turmoil of ideas replaced every moment, flipping out of grasp, exploding volcanoes of colors, rainbows of events, chaos of recollection. Such serene moments.

-Momina.

picture source : http://www.facebook.com/Urbah.V.Photography?fref=ts