the threads in her head

Days pass and pass. The sun was supposed to stay and last a little longer, but somehow it’s dying out in my world. It’s a brilliant ruby, and it’s slowly fading away. Everywhere I see, it's tainted with that reddish, bloodish glow. Homes are filled with chaos and agitation. The garden ain't a relaxing place anymore. Ice cream melts away.

The scent of disasters is strong in the air. It's thick and heavy, and it's pressing down on me. Hard. I can hardly breathe. There's too much assignments, too little time.

And I have no more energy. Limp. Like a rag doll. Thrown aside. In a city of grown-ups, there's no child to spot a treasure in me. None. I'm torn, broken. Burnt out. This feels like the end. I'm nonchalant. It starts raining. I'm all wet now. Oh well.

And so it's been 3 days of troubled sleep. I can't think. I mean, if I'm thinking, they're one whole bunch of disjointed stuff. They don't link up. Tossing and turning. Turning and tossing. Why am I waking up in the middle of the night? Huh? I'm up again? Oh yea, I am. I can see light coming in from under the door. My parents must be up. I need to go back to sleep. How many times have I woken up now? Three, four times? I've lost track.