Mind your own Business

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I live inside my Mind. And that doesn’t bother me. At all. I don’t care what others think of me. Because I am always thinking. Not of them of course.

I live inside a world that treats me well. One that knows me well enough. One that appreciates my capabilities. And one that doesn’t ask me ‘Why’.

I live in a world that I was the architect of. I live between walls I’ve build well. I live between scenes I’ve once written. And watched. All over again.

In my world, the sun never sets. It is always winter. The warm beautiful winter I’ve always lived.

In my world there are no people. Only rabbits and butterflies. They come in all colors as I once drew as a child.

In my world I can dance. I wear a pink dress.

In my world I’m always tanned. And I’m never shy to lie down on the floor.

In my world I’m never angry.

In my world there are no tears. No Technology.

Only grass and rosy bushes.

In my world. In my mind.

(Image from Google Images.)

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The Two Ladies.

This post was written for the Weekly Writing Challenge.

Amidst the stillness of the night I hear noises. Running water, a cough, And chanting.

Horrified and curious, I get out of bed, wear my robe, put on my glasses and head out to the direction of the noises.

Until I stop. And see some light.

The Kitchen.

I have been living in this orphanage for as long as I remember, I have never heard such noises in the middle of the night.

No one is to be awake at night.

I hear a second cough. And the chanting continues.

Sounds like an old lady.

“But we don’t have old ladies working in the orphanage!” I thought.

I keep walking down the corridor, around the corner until I see the door of the kitchen.

It is closed.

Light escapes through the slit below the door and through the keyhole.

I hear my heart beating louder. I feel sweat on my forehead.

I approach the door and look through the keyhole.

Two old ladies stand with their back to the door. Chanting.

I concentrate on the thread of words, I can’t make out them out.

Until I realize it’s not English.

You can turn off the water now.” says one of the ladies.

As she turns around to turn off the tap, I notice her short grey wig, her freshly-applied red lips,  green eye shadow, and her very pale wrinkled face.

A face that I have never seen before.

Or wait, maybe I have.

The second lady had shiny blond hair and a much younger voice. I can’t see her face, she gave me her back. But I can see her white silk dress. Just by looking at her back, she is beautiful.

Her chants are smooth, friendly, that of a mother comforting her child.

I concentrate. The rhythm seems familiar.

“Honey, It’s time.” The older lady says with a sad tone. She grabs the young lady’s hand and leaves through the opposite door.

I open the door and hurry behind them.

“Hey! wait!” I scream.

An echo. There was no sign of them.

I turn back to the kitchen, particularly to that counter the two ladies were working on, hoping to know anything about them.

I find a plate covered with a clean white cloth. I pick it up realizing its beautiful smell.

And my favorite childhood dish.