She felt her cold hands. She must have laid on the floor for almost 6 hours. She inhaled deeply, her whole body stretched and her eyes twitched when she felt the coldness through her linen-layered back. The rain must have stopped. She can only listen to a drizzle on the outside. She opened her eyes. But she couldn’t see a thing. It is almost midnight, she surmised. She gathered herself to turn on the light. 

Her eyes struggled to close again to fight the brightness of the light. Once again, she wanted to lie on the floor. Not that it changes anything, not that she could think better nor she would be comfortable, but it had its own solace and cordiality. For the last few hours, all she could manage to think about was if the ground could handle her weight. She felt so heavy along with her sadness that nothing would be able to hold her weight. It was at moments like this she turned to words. Not words to speak of. But words to imprint on her notebook, phone, or anywhere she can engrave them. She goes back and forth on the idea that words are great weight holders than anything.

“A girl escaped death but was trapped to live.” She writes. “The moment she escaped death, she thought she was free from every shackle. The power of escaping, running away from a thing is enthralling. The feeling is exhilarating. Nothing seems impossible. No amount of chain would seem enough to hold you captive. How little did she know then?!” Her eyes took a break to stare at the wall. “Nothing, no one is free in this world. The moment you escape the prison of death, you are yet entering a new prison. A prison of life! That’s a much worse prison, to be honest. You are trapped in every way imaginable.” But she couldn’t go on further. 

Her hands are tied to write because her eyes couldn’t stand the flickering light rays out of the lamp. Besides the coldness is antagonizing, every time her fingers moved she felt pain. She turned off the light but her brain couldn’t stop crafting sentences. The words that were occupying her empty thoughts are rearranging themselves in a certain order. She couldn’t say if that was a blessing or a curse. But there is no off switch for her brain to stop schematizing the words she found interesting. 

After an hour or so she was still wide awake. But after forming zillions of phrases and sentences, she felt her mind going quiet. Like she is weightless and free. The arrangement, the words, the sentences, they might or might not make sense. But she felt the solemnity of the night, the tranquility of the air, and the straight line in her head.