I heard the slow rumble of many songs rising from beneath. It built to a chorus of screeching tyres; a crescendo of marble glass breaking. There was a mirror directly across the room. I flinched at what I saw. My face had contorted into a contemptible frown; and no matter how wide I stretched my skin with my palm, it wouldn’t snap back.
At first I was relieved when it stopped; the silence was so abrupt it unsettled me. Then the silence ate its way into my skin. It was as if Luciano’s give my love a try was being stenciled in a labyrinth into my cochlea.
Darkness. Smoke. Mirrors
There were too many things happening at the same time; and then there was nothing happening. They looked like me yet they looked strange. Their fabric of existence was surreal, I wasn’t sure if I was in my head…or not.
They moved into new positions to create a pathway. They moved as if they were counting each step. I waited for someone to come through the closed door, but no one did and my eyes were getting heavier. I closed my eyes for a second. When I fluttered them open she stood in the middle of the room. A beautiful she.
There was an aura about her. I could hear soft whispers teasing me not to touch her. How do you tease against a thing? How do you beckon me to leave? My mind was slipping…
She had on a coffee brown robe that looked like it would fall off any minute. And it did. The panties she had on was a thin strip at the back and fully covered her at the front. She didn’t need a banner to tell me she knew how to perfectly balance the good and the bad.
She wasn’t talking, but they were listening. She had a look; as if to say ‘I only need you to be an audience.’ Nothing else.
And that’s all she needed.
Her eyes fell on mine. That’s when I say the multitude of hearts she’d pegged on her sleeve.
There was another like her. Just like her. Only, she had a peach robe. They were sisters. They had been fighting for 2 millenniums over a king who bathed thrice a day. His name was Jay. And his bath water could cleanse all filth. The only way to get to him was to dip one’s soul in his bathing tub. They called it Jay’s Cess. The sisters had been fighting over who ought to dip her soul in Jay’s Cess. Only one soul could.
A space existed between the door left ajar and the sudden door slam. A gap small enough for me to fit through. I needed to see Jay’s Cess.