Subconscious

A faint ringing floated in from afar. I followed the sound to its source. It was the telephone.

First light hadn't broken yet. Weird hour to be calling someone I thought. I picked up.

But the phone went on ringing, and it kept getting louder. I tried to turn it off but it wouldn't. I was about to scream in frustration when I got a nudge from behind and almost on cue, blissful silence! But wait. It wasn't a phone in my hand. It was the alarm clock and my senses still swimming, I sat up in bed to another day of my mundane existence.

It was almost psychedelic - the way things floated into one another, forming a myriad of fantastic shapes. Like someone had spilled paint on an empty canvas. Light played strange tricks as it trickled into sight, waxing and waning to an unreal pulse. There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me to be up and about. But caught up in this phantasm, somewhere between reality and imagination, it loses conviction and sings along to an unheard tune, a silent symphony.

I'm back home, relaxing on the sofa, reading a novel. It was one of those thrillers, the kind that grips your attention in a wrestler's hold, and refuses to let go until you've devoured the last page. The ceiling fan was turning, but the heat refused to go away. Sweat trickles down my nose, and my arms, and my thighs, and drips off the tips of my hair. But it doesn't affect me in the least - I'm used to it. The Indian summer.

The trees outside seem paralyzed. Not a blade of grass stirs. It seems the entire city is having her siesta. Busy intersections are quiet, raucous corners empty, even the policeman dozes in a shady corner. I remember how I loved these moments of suspended animation as a child. While the city slept, the young mind would embark on adventures filled with pirates and ghosts and treasure. A mere four walls were not enough to restrict the boundless freedoms of thought.

My mind grows wistful, ever fonder of times past, and I can't resist. The train of long-forgotten thought chugs by, offering a fleeting glimpse of bitter-sweet memories. It stops in a cloud of smoke, and I get on ...


A faint ringing floats in from afar. I follow the sound to its source. It was the telephone ...