She stood steady and ready to face it all. Her sweet, yet strong voice filled her quiet office in a melodic hum. She hummed on a piece of her own creation, 'Locked Doors'. 'Locked Doors' was not only a piece of music but also a piece of her heart. She hummed steadily and hit the notes perfectly. She wasn't a professional singer, in fact, not a singer at all, but this song made her rise to fame when she was three years younger.
The cold night wind blew through the large, open window, making her office feel like Arctic. Her papers of work flew around the room. If it wasn't for today, she may have never sat back in her chair and allowed papers of hard and important work fly across the floor like that, but she did that today just the same. Humming softly with closed eyes, she thought of how the night will end and when the clock will tick twelve.
The midnight stored her memories, answers to her endless questions, answers to her question which had waited for four years and perhaps even her four years old love. She hoped for him not to change. She wanted the eighteen year old him - and her
Her mind was filled with memories of the past. As one of her memories pricked her deep inside, she stopped humming. Her eyes opened, red, like she just woke up from an unsatisfying sleep. Her eyes fell on the black, hard plastic tag on the edge of her work table. She thrusted forward, crashing and damaging the other contents on her table. She held the tag and turned it around. 'DAY LESLEY MARY', her name with 'HEAD JOURNALIST' written underneath it in bold letters.
It was her song 'Locked Doors' which interested the news company she worked for, 'The Truth' to employ her as a journalist two and a half years ago. She, now headed the department with great enthusiasm to find out the truth - all the time. She put the tag down with a deep sigh, glanced over to the digital clock on the table and then to a very traditional clock atop the office door. It was still 9 o' clock. Three more hours to go - she didn't know what the midnight will hold for her and funnily, she didn't actually want to.
She swiveled her chair to the right where a full length mirror was. She saw herself for the first time in eight hours, the last being when she went out for lunch. Dark eyes, deep, not the color but the slight mystery it held. Dark hair which was tied up in a high, loose bun. She released her hair from the hair fastener and let her gorgeous dark, shining hair fall in her natural curls down her shoulders, reaching her perfectly proportioned waist, where the starting of the grey, high waist skirt was.
Grabbing her purse on the near edge of the table, she fished out her make up kit. Working for a little more than twelve hours, her make up had definitely 'disappeared'. But no signs of eyes sacks or dark circles were there. She was an insomniac and even her bones, refused to surrender to tiredness.
She put on her plump lipstick and blush. She ran her nimble fingers through the strands of her soft hair. She needed to look good, she needed to feel good. It wasn't always that she felt that she needed to look good. No, not she. Her mind raced back four years ago..
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Pure Existence
FantasyON HOLD Oh these locked doors, Never can come out, never can be free. Never can call myself normal, Oh these locked doors. She was insecure, she didn't fit in. Her parents had disappeared, but she had found that special someone who could make her fo...
