Throughout the sun, I was only able to see the cloud. They huddled together like a flock of woolly sheep, wavy but fluffy as marshmallows. Last night, I discovered the same cloud. They were unfolding like the muddy lake’s surface, with no ripples as if it were about to engulf anyone who crossed it. And the woman to my right did the same thing.
I SMELL A POWERFUL, AN UNPLEASANT REEK, which disoriented my senses and jolted me awake from my slumber. Each one expropriates my mind: obscurity, confusion, oddity. I tell my legs to shift so I can bear the pain.
Four. I counted back the eyes around the table. Only four people, including myself. Boisterous by those boring sound, I chose to mind-read with a glass of wine flanked with my fingers. I am sitting among the old men. Bob Ross on the left and Sir Tolkien on my right.
I open the window when the car is passing in between the rice fields. The coconut trees grow in sparse. I breathe in the cold air solemnly; let it touches the wall of my lungs and muffling my heartbeat. I start to remember when my little sister and I played with the water buffalos there. I really miss those moments. The moment when I was still innocent and did not lapse into the polemic of real world.