Junk Dilemma

They told me to check on her. Just to check on her, down in the basement. Initially, i hesitated, too tired to even drag my arse across the room. Besides, i came for booze, not for babysitting duties. But taking advantage of my partial awareness, their persuasions carried me to obey. 'At least when i tumble down, i'd drift back to sleep', i comforted myself, 'until someone comes to kick me out'.

So down down, never reaching the destination. 'Its the first door you see.' How many flights more? How would i ever know; I was then engulfed in the peak of drowsiness.

Then a rub on both eyes drew the outline of a door before me. I stopped, gathered courage, and opened the door in the manner of holding a virgin statue. I could swing it violently: the unnerving sound from the faulty hinges was an interesting study. But no sir, this innocent i'm visiting is undeserving of a treatment those bastards rightly deserve.

A fragile body was huddled on the bed. She was shivering badly. 'Damn bastards left the air conditioning on', i gruntled. Then i realized: no unit was installed, quite impossible underground. So i came near her and waited. Thank you. I am fully aware of my liqour stench but a nod would be polite enough. Still, she would not lift her head.

Then a curse escaped my lips, a curse not for her refusal to acknowledge my presence, but a curse for those caring bastards. They didn't bother to spread even a flimsy cloth over this vulnerable ash-white girl. She was then hugging her knees as intense as a resolute bud. And her eyes were squeezed hard that the bridge of her nose could Crack! How how. I slid my hand across my forehead. I was then sweating, awakened and determined to stay put.

I lingered longer, troubled; twirled my hair; and thought hard on this chair (i pulled from a sea of space, butts, and foil), consulting the vandalized walls, and the undone bed.

Seated flaccidly, i drifted to my childhood memories and subsequently rechristened this chair as: The Thinking Chair. The realization on the magnitude of the thought to the present pulled me back. So i rose and peered closer to her. My instincts somehow convinced me that though she is in the deep recesses of her subconscious, she is conscious of the change in her surrounding.

'Be free, spirit. Run, like a child of marigolds racing near the setting sun', i whispered.

To my great surprise, she lifted those lovely lashes, which reminds me of tall tropical trees, and like coy curtains opening, permitted me to view the most exquisite pair of fine eyes. 'Anthracite eyes', i uttered.

She drops me a careless smile. Her eyes are still bleary i guess. I feel my pulse and realize the activated acids under my skin flow unrestrained that i close the door.