another quiet evening has begun n he sat there counting each tick that came from a rusty old clock that hung in d corner of his room. the clock wasnt the only rusty old thing, there was a closet which he seldom opened n there was a squeaky chair kept alongside a cheap study table which had a opening drawer which never worked wen needed. his room was quiet lively, he thought, painted with yellow, which looked pale due to its longevity and dimly lit bulb which was the only bearer of the light force in his room which otherwise had acquired a ghastly appearance. serene and quiet, but more in as unnatural way which gave out an errie silence almost deafning him at times.
that was not only the case with his room, the house itself was very quiet and seemed at peace. a peacefullness that was so aggresive that he thought of fleeing at times. but he didnt, knowing that only he could do something about it. he had to believe, in himself, and not jst try but he had to. there was no scope for trials, either it was done or not done.
it was a quiet winter evening when everything was normal in such an aberrant way that it disturbed him. "why was it so?" he thought to himself. "why is this normal?" he questioned, directed to nobody. as the evening sun shone red, he rose above the normal being and eyed for a better place, a place which was quite still not deafning. the sun gave out its light to him, he could feel the warmth n still caress the cool breeze. there he was where he wanted to be. the horizon was still too far and the birds flocked yet astray. the clouds were like a whirpool of colors having a tinge of orange n peach. the whirlpools of colors kept movin in his direction n he felt as if he could fly jst by spreadin his arms. the horizon figthin to tame the sun but he kept evadin it, the sign of the mortal beings still showed at the end. sanity they called it, from there he could see the 'frayed ends of sanity'. careless strokes of silver brushes in the sky made him feel he was part of it. we all are. the golden streaks turning into firey dragons caught his eye. as he drifted in this new world he wished it could b for d whole world. he couldnt hear the sounds below or the
mourning, complainin, chaterring, shouting, whispering, whining nor the sound of that deafning quiteness he was used to. it was all so beautiful n amazing. until the sun started givin up d fight n d golden streaks slowly turned to soft violet , n clouds looked more like fluffy toys from d the stores he used to peek into. and then there was darkness and still he was amazed at the beauty that it was all worth it. and "serenity painted death" once again.
that was not only the case with his room, the house itself was very quiet and seemed at peace. a peacefullness that was so aggresive that he thought of fleeing at times. but he didnt, knowing that only he could do something about it. he had to believe, in himself, and not jst try but he had to. there was no scope for trials, either it was done or not done.
it was a quiet winter evening when everything was normal in such an aberrant way that it disturbed him. "why was it so?" he thought to himself. "why is this normal?" he questioned, directed to nobody. as the evening sun shone red, he rose above the normal being and eyed for a better place, a place which was quite still not deafning. the sun gave out its light to him, he could feel the warmth n still caress the cool breeze. there he was where he wanted to be. the horizon was still too far and the birds flocked yet astray. the clouds were like a whirpool of colors having a tinge of orange n peach. the whirlpools of colors kept movin in his direction n he felt as if he could fly jst by spreadin his arms. the horizon figthin to tame the sun but he kept evadin it, the sign of the mortal beings still showed at the end. sanity they called it, from there he could see the 'frayed ends of sanity'. careless strokes of silver brushes in the sky made him feel he was part of it. we all are. the golden streaks turning into firey dragons caught his eye. as he drifted in this new world he wished it could b for d whole world. he couldnt hear the sounds below or the
mourning, complainin, chaterring, shouting, whispering, whining nor the sound of that deafning quiteness he was used to. it was all so beautiful n amazing. until the sun started givin up d fight n d golden streaks slowly turned to soft violet , n clouds looked more like fluffy toys from d the stores he used to peek into. and then there was darkness and still he was amazed at the beauty that it was all worth it. and "serenity painted death" once again.
