Dream of riding through a particular street in a car. During the drive through I clenched my eyes shut in fear. Had to blank my thoughts out desperately not letting certain thoughts to come through.
I enter a house, a large family house, with spacious rooms, large windows that encourage light. And I look upon the occupants, a couple with perhaps two children. I want to be among them. Let me loose myself with that warm family.
My sense of self is lost. I am on some path, but I’m following blind. I don’t know what I want out of life. Who am I?
I miss the day-dreaming times. To dream, to embrace in someone’s arms.
Take me in, take me into another world, let me escape.
Why can’t I express thee. What will happen if I cross over and scratch about thee? Why can’t I scratch from where I left off. If one talks about death or a person of death, what would happen? Would there be consequences?
I am lost. I don’t, I don’t want to cause problems. I just want to explore and write about anything. I am blocked, I am hindered.
In my imaginary world, I’m with Ryland. I find comfort in this ‘room’. Somewhere I can retreat to, where I can confide.
Why do I feel hindered? Why am I unable to pass through the bones? Can you write ANYTHING you want? I’m just confused. Not so brave on my own. I want to dream. To have the bubble. My cocooned own world. Don’t want to affect anyone else, but am I though? a puzzling question. Surely I don’t draw attention. One would have better things to do. So is all this all in my mind? Is there any fear exploring a character in a fictional sense as well as the created picture?
Furious Ryland Hunt was not to be messed about with.
He dragged, forced Emma into his secluded office and slammed the door.
And then he threw her down on to a plastic chair.
There the girl cried and examined her stinging red wrist caused by his biting grip.
Now she was forced to look up and listen him screech and shout. ‘I heard it from my friends the things that you said. The way you talked about me and the way you went behind my back.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ defended the girl.
He shook his head, ‘Go on, deny everything.’
‘Okay, I didn’t mean for it turn out like this.’
He immediately turned around to her and flew his finger in to his finger into her face. Flames like eyes flared and roared, ‘But you betrayed me. How dare you. How dare you.’
But Emma could not take this and ran to the window and cried.
With a steel cold voice Ryland murmered, ‘What use is crying, don’t expect me to sympathise.’
Fed up, Emma pelted cushions on to the floor, stretched her bored body and dug her woollen heels hard into the old green carpet textured upholstery.
Suddenly she slammed her fist on the headrest and distorting her face.
Then she glanced up and the damn hundred watt light bulb glared back at her. All week, no phone calls nor visitors.