Letter to Myself.

Dear My Inner Conscience,

How unconventional would it be to write to your own self? I want to think past that and write,write,write..

Conscience,we lost another battle today. We saw an empire fall and another fortress built in its place. We have no idea how strong this fortress will be. But somewhere,we hope it falls in vain. Because let’s face it ,we shall revel in the ruin of others. That’s human nature.

We have lost and we have no tears left. We have only strength now. We have experience. We have hope. But the hope is languid and wobbly on its legs.

A door closed in our face today. (Trust me,my nose hurt) but I hope another door is opening. I can almost hear its creak.

It’s hurtful to feel defeated. To see others less deserving or equally deserving people than me win. Why?

Why indeed.

We failed. But we tried and failed nevertheless. We should be happy that we at least tried. Not to mention we made a fool of ourselves..

Partiality at every nook and crevice and my own mistake mark my failure.

I hope the wound that I made on myself today heals.

Heal soon,Conscience. And prosper and rise from the ashes like the Phoenix.

Because I know I may not be as strong as people I admire but I’ll try getting there.

Good bye,Conscience. It’s nap time for me and you? You think. Don’t stop. Think of getting better and happier. Live for the mother that smiles when she sees you. Live for the father who looks satisfied when he spoils you.

When Dreams Become Nightmares.

The sleeping girl is still. Very still,in fact. Her breathing is difficult to discern because it is so irregular and spasmodic.

She dreams. Or are those nightmares?

Her brain conjures up a horrifying image of a masked man,wearing black from head to toe.

She can hear footsteps.

Whose are those? Is the masked Man accompanied by someone? A crime partner?
She doesn’t know. She can’t know…

Jessica jolts awake. Another one. Another gurgled scream. When will this stop,she doesn’t know. She realises the position of her hand. It’s on her chest.

Her sleepy brain reminisces the old wives’ tale-“Never sleep with your hand on your chest or sleep on your stomach. You are just inviting nightmares in if you do so.”

Ah. The cause.

The effect? A lugubrious and insipid life led by said girl.

A silent thought of fighting her nightmares creeps in her mind. She cannot wave it off. It may seem silly but it is a valiant move provisionally.

She regulates her breathing and lays down in the position she woke up in with her hand laid decently on her chest, next to her heart ,to find out the Mystery Of The Masked Man.

Sleep comes easily but with a tingling fear in it’s wake.

Sometimes,taking risks in life is what makes you stronger.