“Find what you love and let it kill you" ~Charles Bukowski
Riley sat by the window in the pitch dark of her room.
Her colossal blue silhouette had remained in the same position since the sun had set and the tangerine in the sky had disappeared.
She looked depressed and monochromatic on the outside but no one could see that she was internally screaming in colours.
She waited for the moment when all her thoughts would gather and perfectly fall in place. Her hands itched for her to pick up the book and her fingers craved for the smooth movement of the quill over the blank canvas that was no less than a warehouse of possibilities.
Suddenly, in the eerie quiet of the room, a beam of neon projected itself on the wall in front of her.
She tilted her head to the right and then to the left, this strange yet enticing glow appeared there as well.
Then finally, in the faint reflection of her window, she could make out that the origin of this light was from her inside her head.
Hardly had she tried to get her head around things when all of a sudden as if an earthquake had occurred, her head exploded, shattered into a million pieces of neon.
They were now imprinting themselves on her half-filled manuscript that lay on her large, bulky mahogany desk.
This was such a beautiful, fascinating sight to behold. Her chamber now appeared to be a graveyard of stars.
The stars burning bright with her thoughts that she imagined were unfathomable.
Her leather cased rustic manuscript was the black hole for her stars.
She knew they would be forever protected in there.
She was finally satisfied, contended with her existence and had fulfilled her purpose in life. The only thing she had ever wanted was to write.
Write till she dropped.
Write till she had used every single word imaginable.
Her passion that so deep-rooted and strong that all that she wished for was to write till her head exploded, her thoughts, stories and pain oozing out.
It was only now that everyone witnessed that she really was screaming in colours.
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