Bike with a loose nut, Juggling on unicycle, Awaken laughing.
The rain hammered down on Annabelle but she didn’t mind. She hated her every waking moment. Her life was akin to a left foot being shoved into a right shoe, a shoe filled with alarming amount of fine gravel. But she did find a sanctuary in her desolation: a single gnarled old birch next to a puddle of a lake. There she lost herself in fictions and fantasies to drown her sorrows. And it was this rainy day, her fantasies finally reached out from beyond the watery depth and whisked her away. Her troubles never found her again.
I awoke to the rhythmic jolting of a train. Perhaps awaking is not the right verb. To be awake, one need to have slept but no one slept on this train. Proverbially, I came to myself in the middle of this foreign but familiar coach. All I could see was rows upon rows of seats and of course their associated souls. The coach is full but silent, not too different from a church awaiting the beginning of a sermon. In fact, if it weren’t for the long line of windows on either side showing the same grey and bland landscape speeding by, I would well have said I awoke to the ceremonial monotony of a church. But of course, that would imply a number of sins which I would do well to avoid given my current circumstances.