Trapped

If she had felt trapped before, that feeling was nothing compared to this. This feeling was not emotional. It was as though she was having a physical reaction. This feeling, it caught in her throat, choking out the words, wrapping its fingers around her lungs, cold and clammy, she could hardly breathe.

It was as though she was dying, the hole in her stomach kept growing each day, the future, the uncertainty, the anger, the dissappointment, and more than all that - the entrapment.

She was trapped in her body, she was trapped by her fate, and she, was trapped, by her own progeny.

the shackles so bound, that the only way to freedom was no way at all.

the writer

I truly, totally want to write. I look at my old blogs, and blog posts, I look at that Rs.2500/- cheque that is past expiry date for my short story, and long to write.

It is just so simply sad that all I write now, are either emails, excel sheets or pitful "Im such a loser posts".

Life, has just become so cluttered now. too many relationships, commitments and responsibilities come in way of me.

I think of that long lost novel that I began, and I can envision what I had written... that fictional village beckons me, my lovely protagonist still is where I have asked her to stay. The story just doesn't move further, everything is like a painting in my minds eye.

My heart asks me what happens of them, of the heroine, her mother, the numerous men in that story - what happens at the cemetery, whos epitaph is she reading,  and I do not know. I just do not know. the papers on which it was written is long gone, lost. I cannot restart, the words wont be what they were then. anything I try to do will only deface the painting in the minds eye.

Sigh.

I just want to write. When will I get to write?