Journey to Mute Childhood

When half of the world may be deep down in the lane of night world floating, some motionless, some ticking clock and some might be wriggling in soft or hard bases. One was curled up under the sheets. Pulling the sheets all the way up and sometimes pushing it little low to breathe. Should this help? Tried tucking it on all the ways, forming something not less than a moat. Uncurling out of the humid cave, out and up there lay dark and dark; barely few stars could be spotted or some made up ones seemed burning down. This should work or perhaps that should. But, for what? The quest seemed futile. Yet the attempts had to be ventured, for the mere fact of survival, for it was, what could be done.

Door left ajar; neither closing would help nor opening it. It would demand certain kind of energy, movement from the custom made tunnel meant so much of courage to be mustered up for that one action. However, she would and since nothing would come out of it, she would go back to curling up inside. Eyes closed, the faint noise coming from distant scene would help transcend her to some deep pensive country. She was standing by the door and her sister took her by her hand and sang to her; told her fables, she was most fond of.  They danced under the lantern in the tavern. Lying flat on her back, her head softly pressed on her sister’s widely crossed legs, she watched how beautifully her sister’s fingers danced gracefully in the crochet that brought the whole nebula above her ceiling. Stars intertwined in the gust of dust that gave the milky shine with the sprightly crocheted light coming from the little fingers. She glided through the aura like some spaceship. So much to be fond of, so much to be amazed at, her eyes constantly widened. Bang! Something in the prowl hit her head, the same distant noise brought her down, curled up inside her quilt. The door still ajar and the music still young.

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