Unlived

The Small Voice Inside Her Head stirs a little from slumber.

The binding chains rustle like venomous snakes.
The bars of the cage rattle admonishingly.

'You have one great flaw. You have problem with anything that is unconventional.'
Someone's words echo in her head and she sighs, wondering how they had figured her out.

The Small Voice Inside Her Head stops her every time.
'Stop'.
'Forget It.'
'Back Off.'

She follows without question. After all it has kept her safe all the time, from anything unconventional, anything that had potential to break her, anything that can go out of control and leave her helpless.

She lives in a cage, doors have been bolted by herself, the chains have been put around her wrists by herself.

Yet she has a chamber of secrets.
Chamber of her unconventional dreams.
Dreams she knows she would never dare follow, because it is unsafe.

Sometime at night, when the world is asleep and The Small Voice Inside Her Head is fuzzy, when the line between the right and the wrong is blurred, she opens her chamber of dreams.

Like Night-Blooming-Jasmine, her unconventional fragrant dreams madden her with passion. The guilty pleasure spikes the words she writes and intoxicates her with sinful desires just until she realizes-

That's it.
She must stop before it is too late.
Because she is in unsafe, unknown territory.
Because she knows nothing about giving in.
Because she is supposed to be controlled.
Because she might get hurt otherwise.

It is then she gathers all her unconventional dreams that have tried to escape towards the reality. Like a hardened fisher-woman who grabs the crawling crabs finding a way out of her basket, she holds all her dreams carefully and throws them back in the chamber.

Every night she sets her demons free.
Till her angels wake up.

The next morning she wears the mask of normalcy, to blend in.
'You are so controlled and meticulous. Very planned.' Someone compliments.

She merely smiles.
She gets to know the illusion works.
She is still in cage.
Still safe.
Still in control.
She still has her hands on the wheel.
 

One more day goes by, safe and UN-LIVED.

Solitaire

A card after card she draws from the pack and each time she is disappointed.

A Three of Spade.
A Jack of Hearts.
A Ten of Diamond.
A Three of Spade again.

She sighs but doesn't scrap the game. Each time a disappointing card falls face up in the stack in front of her, she draws another more fervently, with a foolish hope that her Lady Luck would finally smile upon her.

The Small Voice Inside Her Head sighs.

'Call it the end. Scrap the game already!'

She purses her lips determinedly, trying to ignore.

'Here you are, trying to fight the losing battle.' The Voice whispers, 'I hate this habit of yours.'

'Why do you keep reappearing! I shoo you away all the time, yet you are shameless enough to come back.' she hisses under her breath.

'Because I am the only one who has ever made sense, aren't I? Besides,' The Small Voice Inside Her Head says matter-of-factly, 'Somebody has to save you from yourself.