flYinG rooM

This small flying room made me to feel my body is inside an embryo. The four walls around me showed an unknown region. The reflection on the wall is an abstract art, conveyed me nothing, but felt like a sad teen girl. A group of people entered inside the flying room. Every body standing like trees in a dark forest. Every ones eyes are stretched towards the changing numbers. Each number has its own choice to get them out from that flying room. Explanations are not crucial for us.

The flying room swallowed me in an usual lazy official day.

He was trying a sketch with his ballpoint pen sitting on a small chair near by the room door. Noticed him most of the time with a small piece of paper. Dress conveys the nature of his job. He is working in that small flying room with his five feet, gray hair, average body type, dark skin, face shows his age above forty.

“Hello Sir”, a new hello from him.

“Hi”, a stone face hi from me.

He requested me to get him some printouts of some portraits in black and white, so then he can trace it to practice sketching. Surprises slightly kissed my mind.

“How long you got the interest in sketching?”, thought to ask, but I didn’t, because of my pathetic hesitation. He satisfied by my “OK”.

What made him to ask me? He have no idea what I am into, Is he asking to everyone? or Is he trying to divert his noisy pain through his sketches? or Is his mind wanted something to chew without any strong reasons? or Is it just an idea to burn his horrible time? or something? or some other thing? or something which has nothing?

Inside the small flying room, he is still progressing the recreation without any expectation. But his personal unfamiliar expectation might have a peculiar world without anyone but only for him to draw a straight line.

Drowned into the minutes to take a chance to stay away from the busy day without stop thinking about that unusual day. He may exhibit his sketches and silent conversation to the steel walls around him, who is there to accept his works or to talk about his world.

When he received the fresh printout papers from me, he made a thanking smile.

That flying room spat me outside at a point without asking both of our names.

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One Response to flYinG rooM

  1. cripple says:

    please keep it tucked away somewhere
    this cheap pleading both detest
    and secretly humor in power games
    hold it .Like an argument over the greatness
    of ideas vs the mediocrity of life.
    stash it.hide it.a filthy school memory
    you cherish but would rather not.
    let it let it

    simmer.but never boil.the gas still enveloping
    like secrets they never explode but fill up the room with bean fart.
    rest it amidst the chaos of mind
    and the labyrinths of parallel lines.

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