Open Heart {Under Revision}

Chapter 9- Dust on Wind

My eyes were already gazing out from window when the shrill ringing of alarm penetrated in space.

Without bothering a glance, I flicked my hands to the device and shut off that annoying noise, sending me back into momentary silent solitude of my new room, in my new apartment.

These sunrises of Boston...you gotta watch these mornings every day. They were absolutely sightly—not near stunning compared to mornings which I often sought in San Diego but it was far better than mooring slate-gray skies of Manchester(I blamed my situation that time to have such impressions or else Manchester was a beauty of it own kind) or staring at brick-villas of bustling metropolitan neighbourhood of Atlanta. Sometimes it was indurate to put words upon the grand scheme of nature which pervaded through any man made construction to show its eternal beauty even though people shaded no heed for it. Not anymore like they used to. Not anymore since when we rose from cradle.

At least, someone has to keep watching these enthralling moments for sake of our civilization. For sake of our memory and creation.

The dark miasma of broken dawn was lifted and bountifully became filled with expanse of orange and yellow and red and magenta. All blended together from brushes of an ever-artist stroking second by second to change their scintillation in plethora of dawnshine. The illumination ambled from my window into my room and then fell gently on my skin like amassing of passing dandelions in wind. When the rays reached my eyes, I succumbed to the beguiling but potent glare of sun and craned my face away from the window—away from rising brilliant bloom in horizon.

It had been an hour since I was forced to snap my eyes open by an unwanted vision thrust unconditionally by my subconscious mind. There were no more than wispy fragments of remembrance of that nightmare but it's after effects tittered in corner of my eyes and could be reeled off by my sweat-drenched body. It almost made me feel like I was a tree uprooted from earth and then thrown into an alien patch of land where my roots couldn't penetrate and would slowly wither me to death.

Give me a good morning, un jour.

Hazarding a yawn, I rolled out of my bed and stretched to put off any slumber if lingering around. Sleep was no longer an option, not if I wanted to repeat the very entertaining musings which happened no more than a couple of days ago.

A warm breeze osculated me, coming from both of my windows. This was the room where I had stayed back to view the avenue when we came to check out. And I chose this because it was the only of four which pointed in that direction—into open space rather than facing walls of another apartment or having no windows at all in first place. That room was unanimously chosen by three of us to be declared as extra-space. Sienna and Landry did not fuss about selecting their rooms which roused a concerning thought that these handful of hard days have changed their thoughts of living and allowing comfort to their selves. Working that long often made you to ignore the space you stayed and coaxed you to drop dead on bed from tiredness.

My bathroom was far better than anything. It should be noted that anything was supposedly supreme than my pseudo-apartment in Jamaica Plain which housed that infestation of doomsday cult in vicinity. I was glad now they had been gyrated into little pieces. They still made it to news though, especially when questions about their undetected gatherings and planning rose. I spared no more attention than I would give a fly on my window.

The first thing I did was not glance in direction of my phone and precisely took care of myself. I knew many things would've chimed in notification bar from past five hours but they could wait. It was time to get myself cleansed from head to toe. Cosseting was one of the best ways to cut out the ill-lingering effects of a night-terror. After all, it has been working well for a decade now.