Iris

Track 10: 8 Letters (Why Don't We)

Track time stamp: 1:15-1:35 // 2:11-3:05

Each brick, builds its foundation. Each plate, shapes the tower. Each tube, connects everything in between. It takes every piece, big or small to generate a great artwork.

It takes in different kind of sets, the agility to be able to think quickly, the dexterity to improve one's skill, the imagination and creativity where one's mind plays, the limit to self-control when losing the instructions or when one piece started to go missing or as one doesn't fit the puzzle. And the patience to withstand when everything collapses, all at once.

Fast hands squeeze the forceps, holding the edge of the rim, linking the loops. If you circle around, the masterpiece was already near to done. Few more bows to complete the outlines, few more arches to highlight the design, just a little bit of patience and the perfect skyline tops off.

The silence fills in the dark room, it was too deafening. All were set on its place. Everything was calm and at peace.

He sits there on a rocking chair, his body was stiff and with limited amount of body movement. The hands in action and the mind works. And eyes fixated on a clear focus. Every move was manned with the mind.

He clears his throat once. With a finger, he fixes his glasses with a slight push before it falls as it was slipping through his tall nose. He picks up the brick again with the forceps in his hand, topping it in each block that it fits.

What better way to lose track of time than to drown one's thoughts into the world of Lego.

Now, back in her desk, the mind was lost, clearing into an open space, eyes zoning out at a distance, staring at a blank wall. She drums her fingers through the hard wood.

Atleast once in every day, the mind wanders off, to relax in a nil of thoughts or to drown in an ocean of thoughts.

She tilts her head to squeeze in that brain to try and guess who and why. She connects each dot but everything seemed to end with one thing. Nothing.

It's a dead end.

It's funny, how a single strand of hair brings the mind in a haywire of thoughts. It was blonde, that's for sure but none left to identify who it belongs to. Sure, there is— are to be precise, but how would you go around, asking random people, hey, I found a strand of hair stuck in my jacket, I was wondering if this is yours to all the blonde people that she could think of.

Dumb. Way too dumb.

The tight squeeze of the mind stresses her out. It squeezes her inside, out. The curiosity growing inside her head, draining the hell out of her.

She knew it was that one fight at one night. She knew it from the jacket she wore that night. She knew it was the person behind that mask. She knew that mask was the key to why she asked. What she didn't know was it was a woman. What she thought she knew was a man.

A woman who is after her ex-wife. Her kids, maybe? Her family, perhaps. Somi?

That woman who hid under the shadows of darkness, playing dormant on the safe side, taking the chance to attack its target and launch its scheme.

Why?

The reverie knocks as soon as few thuds echoed the room. It rang her ear. Three knocks from the door pulls her back down to reality.

"Hey." Sad eyes and a bright smile peek behind the door.

She draws in a smile but it faded that fast. She drops the nice smile that easy. She snaps. Looking at the woman at a near distance. Her hair falls down, peeping through that door. It was blonde.