the threads in her head

Strange textures. Her hand flung out and brushed across strange unfamiliar textures. Here a sudden sharp corner greeted her finger. There a sudden smooth soft thing. They were the most unfamiliar things. And they were in her house.

She was really quite scared. A soft gasp escaped from her heart and flew to her closed lips, and then the next second her lips opened to let it out. Was this really her home? Yes, indeed, it was. But it was suddenly so strange, so unfamiliar. So detached…

She huddled into that one small corner she was familiar with. The corner which she would run to when she was scared, or when she was crying. But it had changed. It was not the soft pastel green. It was suddenly murky. And somehow, she could not crouch into it as comfortably as she once could.

The harsh light glared onto her. 5 bright fluorescent white light bulbs. Where was the warm orange tone she was so used to? Gone, gone, all gone in a sudden second. So there she was left in a strange remote place that was her home and yet was not.

So the ghost of insecurity came upon her and materialized into something tangible. And she could feel it traveling round her, and skipping around in her very heart, making a playground out of her treasure. It built up such a pressure, such a very painful ache, but it was not one she could get rid of. Not when the ghost was having his fun. Not when there was no one to slay the ghost.