A blank page...
That's what is facing me right now. A completely white sheet.
I was told to fill it with words. Words that made sense or not, that didn't matter. Complete sentences or not, it was up to me. But I had to fill it with words...
Why? I can't remember clearly...
Ah, yes. Those were suppose to convey my feelings. That's it. I was told to pour out my feelings into words.
Funny, how that page is still blank then...
Wait...Does it mean that I have no feelings to express ? Or, maybe that I have no feelings at all... Ah, I don't know...
Red...The pen is red. I don't like the color.
I still wonder. Is the ink blue or black inside ? I bet it's blue. I don't know why.
Ah, my eyes hurt. I'm tired.
I still feel the need to check, though.
I see myself raising a hand to grab the pen and draw a line on the paper.
Black.
I was wrong, the ink is black.
I feel my lips twitch a little in a smirk. Black. Of course.
Ah, really tired.
I feel the pen drop from my hand and my eyes closing.
"That's right Shilpa, write."
My muscles respond automatically at the interruption, as my eyebrows wrinkle and I hear an exasperated scoff escaping my lips.
As if unconsciously, my eyelids heavily open and at the distress look of my interlocutor sitting in front of me, I know I should be giving her what they call a cold stare.
The sigh she let out after a few minutes is so strong that the sheet did move a few inches closer to me. I look at it as it slightly brushes against my blouse.
Slowly, I notice a ray of light drawing its way on it.
Light ? Where does it comes from ?
"It's okay. It's okay if you don't want to talk. It's also okay if you don't want to write. It's okay Shilpa, everything's okay."
Her words play at the back of my mind as I keep staring at the ray of light on the paper. I feel my eyes following its way up, as I lightly turn my head to the left. 'Everything is okay'. 'Everything is okay'. I heard that somewhere...
My eyes finally drop on the window. Here it is. The source of the ray of light. I feel my eyes move back and forth. From the source to the page. From the page to the source.
Fall.
I think I remember something like that.
Yes, that auburn color of tree leaves.
It's fall then.
'Everything's okay'.
I feel my eyebrows hurting from the frown on my face.
Those words. I don't like them.
My body lazily lift up from the rigid surface of the chair as I happen to make my way to the window.
My gaze linger on the tree leaves for some time.
Screams. I hear screams down the corridor.
Glass. Broken glass too.
And footsteps. Rapid footsteps. Many of them.
My eyes don't budge from the tree leaves.
Whispers. Women and men's.
