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The Other Day
The Other Day

The Other Day

RlfdM. Frank

I woke up at an early hour that other day for a cup of well-ground medium-sugared coffee. I began to remove the light, feather-like, and warm covering to get up, but I, nonetheless, refused to take the gown of sleep off since being asleep is the only nepenthe for the relief of my sorrow. While I was dormant, I felt that my eyelids were so heavy that I could bear them not, they continued to shield my pupils and with every collision they made, they were not merely forcing me to skip some views from the surroundings, but also passing some invaluable time for me that moment. I put my mind on and headed directly to the kitchen to pour water in the kettle, put some sugar in the mug, and turned the kettle on to have the water heated. After 10 mins of very long waiting, I stopped pacing the corridor to pay making the coffee some attention. Everything was done neatly, and the time for choosing a spot of relaxation has come; I went to check the porch out, but it was filled with outworn nails of the pine juxtaposed thereto; therefore, it was impossible to rejoice at that spot; a thought sprung into my mind, and it was really entertaining and satisfying, the idea was to sit before the eastern window of my room that overlooks many picturesque views. I didn’t open the window, yet an emotional wave went through my nerves; my eyes, ears, heart, brain, lungs, and limbs were activated at once. Though the separating barrier was coarsely vitreous, I was able to feel the blithe breeze blowing as the sun was climbing over the multitudinous blue yonder that was reigned by frolic skylarks and frenetic swans; I also harked a march of thunderous massive armies of fluffy clouds being scudded by that joyous smooth air stream to eclipse the dawn, but soon later, the ablaze eye of the welkin was intersecting the cloud-murky celestial blue vault in an enthralling natural seen; the solar rays were piercing those condensing evaporated drops of water, and pouring their divinely-bestowed heat upon the fish that were lurking in the waning sea and waiting for hope to glimmer before their slimy and pure organic lamps. Later, the coalescence betwixt the sun and the frowning autumnal clouds silhouetted on the rough pane, and it was about to end, the massing drops of water capitulated to the rutilant heat and conceded to dissolve their plot-weaving crowding to sovereign the borders of firmament; every conspiring wicked iota of vapour commenced to fall, and I was eventually astonished from the huge amount of evil a sky could contain, for it was drizzling. In their long journey to the earth, I could hear the friction twixt the sinister droplet and the encircling air, “Poor droplets,” I whispered, they were humiliated twice now, from the overwhelming sun rays, and the gloating gravity; however, amidst their free fall, I could sense them incandescing, and losing some of their atoms in the hot air, but their suffering was concluded upon bruising the surface of the earth; some of them bruised the soft mild dirt, while others remained hanging on edges of the pine nails, and the rest was warmly welcomed by the cheering vast sea that was rippling in mirth for the celestial triumph; the scent of the soaked dirt was spreading all over the ambience, and I savoured every inhalation I brought into my lungs; the smell of victory, that’s what it was. By taking the last sip of coffee came a colleague — trumpeting with a noisy horn, and shouting “I see your shade on the window, dress up or we will be late for work!”

“You vicious imp,” I huffed, “be gone! I’m taking the day off,” I whispered.

I didn’t answer his uncouth shouting and he left me soon after. I spent the day in my room; I was suffering from the heat emitted by the sweltering sun, and drenched in unbearable heavy sweat and surmounting melancholy -- and surrounded by invincible solitude.

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About The Author
M. Frank
About This Story
10 Oct, 2019
Read Time
3 mins
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