The Itch

The day inched towards closure.A closure that demanded a certain sense of privacy and she lay wrapped up in her quilt,the newspaper crumpled under her pillow,a vogue issue at her feet,a lip gloss that served as a bookmark to the glamorous magazine,the Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath) on the table across her bed,a tap dripping in the bathroom across the room.Sleep seemed to be a stranger in a distant land dressed in a hideously colorful attire walking away from the horizon in a manner that can be at least be described as drunkenly humorous.With her mind on the verge of a new idea and her pupils sufficiently dilated, she sat up straight,so straight that her spine was a bit taken aback by the histrionic movement.Nothingness enchanted a new melody in her..something that sprung alive after being suffocated for long enough.This was the peak after which there would be none.Like the graph she'd studied in a physics class.That was long ago.Living alone now in hilarious nostalgia was damned bliss.There couldn't have been anything better she sometimes thought.It couldn't have gotten worse she thought the rest of the time.

The day before she'd been to the library and there she saw him.Straightforwardly dressed and a man of few words.He didn't ask many questions and he stooped a little when he talked to the staff.He'd just issued the book "the trial-Franz Kafka" Who read stuff like that she thought.She wondered if he was like the lot that lived alone and ate and washed out of the same sink or named a rat that entered into the room instead of driving it away or killing it (the non grotesque option would be preferred of course) She then glanced at his key chain which had Liverpool engraved on it.Would he go home and pour himself a mug of beer and swallow it along with a cheap football game.She saw that he too was glancing at her black nail paint and skull shaped ring that hung loosely over her finger.She wondered if he thought she'd go home and watch Buffy reruns or even worse one pathetic Charmed episode.
"I'm over that,"she whispered coarsely.
"Excuse me?" His eyes widened and she could see a tinge of gray in the them.
"Your eyes are gray"
"ohhhkay"

Sleep was now a stranger who began to know her and talk to her.It still wasn't enough to get her to bed.She opened her fridge and ransacked different containers until she found a flaccid one that contained chicken pasta that she'd packed after lunch at her usual restaurant.Heated it for 15 minutes on a sickly blue yellow gas flame that irritated her and made her think of her wicked past experimenting with food. Experimenting with food at the cost of starvation deaths in the country.A delicious meal puked out in the sink.Bulimia was the beast she fed well and lived with for now.Well we all are hypocrites aren't we.The women and men alike.Men with American playboy issues hidden under mattresses and women wearing red sindoor along with red lingerie. The world was hellishly confused about minor stuff.So was she.And a 23 year old had the basic right to be confused about investments,about her future,about her intrinsic desires and about the world around her.Basic rights..we are born with them like we are with intestines or an arse.

He arose from the fragments of her imagination.Fragments that eventually exploded and the explosive residue that stuck to his feet.The world ended at her feet.The belief stemmed from the innards of her soul.The core was the untouched delicacy.Like a Lindt chocolate that would soon go down the drain and would follow the ugliest routes to reach its final resting place..more like the eternal rotting place.We never think of all that when we bury people.
"I noticed you had gray eyes"
"well...i was born with them"