Constellations Of A Dreamer

2

Thank you for reading chapter 2 of my story, I hope you enjoy what I have written, please share some comments, vote and follow.
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The sounds of screaming and cries for help distracted me from the book I was reading, looking up to the TV in the corner of the university common room; the image of a mother helplessly kneeling to the ground was clinging on to her daughter, her dead daughter, the young girl on the television couldn't have been more than 5, her eyes were closed as though she were in a deep sleep, trails of blood starting from her forehead, trickled down her face and dropped to the rubble filled ground. The mother, in clear anguish was screaming, as though her heart had been torn out of her chest, as though the world had collapsed in front her eyes... her world had collapsed in front of her eyes as my vision looked back at the young girl. The subtitles at the bottom of the screen read 'war torn city, more than 25 civilians dead, 10 found alive, saved from under the rubble'. I closed my book, transfixed on the screen, my heart seemed to drop... what they must be going through while I spend my days in safety.

'Bro, you missed it!' The laughter of the male university students across the room was so loud, it made me want to go right up to them and tell them to shut up, 'you missed it!'. They were playing snooker and all I've heard and seen them do ever since I walked in was shouting and looking at any woman that walked past them, I was so disgusted.
The sounds from the TV could still be heard until one of the guys switched it off.
Switched it off.

Did they not look at the news?, were they not fazed by the pain and suffering around the world? I remembered the image of the young girl in her mother's arm and my eyes started to water, did no one care about her? why is no one talking about this? were my thoughts as I scanned the whole room only to see people all huddled in little groups talking about their nails, football and so on, I felt suffocated and my heart seemed to tighten at the image of others laughing, not being able to bear my emotions any longer I ran out of the common room and into the bathroom down the hall.

The woman that stared back at me was broken, she looked tired and exhausted from the world, from the people that didn't care, she was looking into her brown eyes, identifying the hints of pain and sadness that lived within her, she was me, and that was the most heartbreaking realisation that she had to suffer with, she was not satisfied with her difference as she once said before, she wanted people to think the way she did when she saw the mother and girl, but who would want to be like her, she was, after all, me.

The tears that streamed down my face were unstoppable at that moment, the mirror in front of me was blurry, grabbing as much tissue as I can I dried the dampness of my eyes, and once my vision was clear I was met with sore, bloodshot eyes, I rinsed my eyes well with water before drying it again, and walked out of the bathroom, down the passageways and stairs, and the most saddest part of it all was that no one knew that I had just been crying a few minutes ago, I was just another average girl in a world full of billions.

As I walked down the streets of London, I thought about the war torn places around the world, and even though I don't know them, I've heard them, I've seen them through the media, and just so desperately wanted to let them know that I loved them. And that day in my dorm, I prayed for them, I prayed for the people who suffer, asking God to answer my prayers and let them be free from all the evil in the world.

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'Anna' the girl sitting opposite me was poised, she held a pen in her hand, flicking it back and forth between her fingers, her fingers were so slender, I looked at her face and she smiled. 'My name is Anna, what's your name?'
'Samara'

'Oh, that's a nice name' she smiled again, 'well, I transferred here, I was totally interested in History, but learning it in University is a total drag, I heard good things about teaching, and this University was perfect for me, it's close to home and more spacious than my last university'
I couldn't help but smile at her, she had a warm, welcoming aura around her, one that was so sweet and honest.
'What's your favourite colour?'
I laughed, fascinated at her excessive way of asking questions and without much hesitation I said 'Violet'
'No way, I love that colour too!'

After the seminar was over, Anna said her goodbye and travelled home, whilst I made my way to my humble abode, or better known as my dorm room, one thing I appreciated about Katie breaking off our friendship and moving to another dorm room is that I had it all to myself, it was spacious and cosy, and I didn't feel the strain of being judged at my every movement. The desk I had left so cluttered when I left the room this morning was still in its current state and my mind told me to clean it, but my heart told me to get cosy, open my notebook and write a poem, as a person who is deeply moved by even the slightest kind gesture towards me I continued to follow my heart for the 100th time in a row and started writing my poem.

'And when she felt lost
she looked up to the distant stars.
and knew that even they were together,
whilst she was a minuscule person
in a world full of billions,
a person with fractured fragments
of broken dreams and despair,
but she thought she was happy
in the midst of all her clustered thoughts and feelings,
because she was who she was,
and that was all that mattered to her'

Once I had finished writing, I read it over and over again and saw myself as a dreamer, maybe a hopeful one but always a dreamer, a dreamer who dreamt of happiness and light despite all the tribulations that came my way, and I'll write as much poems and stories as I can, and they'll be mine, they'll be the constellations of a dreamer, and that was all I wanted.

It was 9pm, so I had been reading for 3 hours since I came up to the dorm, placing my book on the bed I walked to the window and looked out to the clear sky, painted with bright specks of lights that were so visible, gazing at the stars was a joy that all humans should possess, it was calming, relaxing, and made me forgot about the destruction and chaos the world was in. After what seemed to be 10 minutes of star gazing my eyes focused elsewhere, the reflection in the opaque window, I stared back at the eyes that were mine and realised just how much the eyes can show, there's a reason why I look at eyes, not the body, not the hair, or even the smile, it's always the eyes, the eyes are the windows to the soul. That is why I looked at the eyes of the man at the gallery, to see who he was, and his green eyes spoke of danger and hunger, just as I expected when he waited outside the gallery for 2 hours before I got out, he had different motives in mind.
I didn't know if I could ever trust a man, not in this society and generation, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have seen them as trustworthy even in the past, I was secluded, I didn't bare a single friend in this damn facility, and only acquired acquaintances, because they were never permanent, they always found someone better, I was not, which I firmly believed, good enough.

The cavernous feelings in me made me fall to the floor, huddled in a shape of a foetus, the tears that escaped my eyes this time were not for others, they were for myself, and I so hated myself for being so selfish and feeling sorry for myself, I was in a maze or maybe a crypt of delusion and panic, and my never ending thoughts of self worth tormented me as though it were always in the air around me, the image of the mother holding onto her dead daughter clouded my mind and I cried more, more desperately, more seriously, and I so wanted to cling onto someone and the only person that came into my already packed mind was my mother, I remembered her and I missed her, and the feeling of dread was soon replaced with a calmer feeling, I felt more relieved than anything that I had cried so much, it meant that I was aware of what I felt, even if it was painful, with an exasperated sigh I lifted myself from the floor, and took out a piece of paper and an envelope, I removed the clutter from my desk and sat at my desk. I weighed my imagination to my reality and felt as though I were between the two, with my black fountain pen I started writing on the blank piece of paper, 'Dear Mother,'

Once the letter was finished I taped the envelope and put it in my drawer, along with another 20 or so letters all starting with 'Dear Mother,'

The next morning, I went to the post office and sent the letter I wrote last night to my mother, as the envelope slipped out of sight behind the counter, I breathed out the breath I had been holding in for so long and walked away, the other 19 letters I burnt, not because I couldn't bring myself to send them to my mother, but because I felt they were to inadequate in depth, feeling, emotion and writing, why would I send something so inadequate. Last night's letter was more than I could have hoped for and felt, and waiting around eagerly for a reply was the thing that excited me most about the next coming weeks.

1 week later

'Dear Samara,

It's so nice to hear from you, I hope you're coming home this holiday? I miss you.

Love,
Mum'

It was short, but it was all I needed to pack up and get away from the population of people in this campus that I couldn't stand being with any longer.