The Light Year Street (I)

“I know! It is ridiculous and weird and not normal, but it did really happen!” She was still very excited. For a twenty-six year old, she lived a terribly ordinary life. Irregular incidents that made for great stories hardly happened to her. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had a good story to tell. And today, when she was super excited about something, there was nobody who would listen to her story. He still had his back turned to her. She couldn’t tell if he was really sleepy or merely suggesting she should stop.

“Babe, are you listening to me?”

He tossed over to face her before he answered; “Yes, but are you listening to yourself?”

If the room had any more light than the rays from the street lamp that sneaked its way through the curtains, he would notice that her eyes emitted enormous sadness. He stroked her hair lovingly, “Go to sleep please? We both have an early morning tomorrow!”

Would he utter the same sentence if she was making love to him instead of telling a story, she couldn’t tell. He started snoring after what felt like few seconds to her. Perhaps he really was too tired to listen. Perhaps she was in denial. She didn’t want to admit that her story was not worth the little attention she asked for.

While he slept like a log beside her, she kept tossing and turning. She was as wide awake as the story inside her.

She couldn’t really tell if what she experienced was science. She hoped it was not. She hoped it was something extraordinary. Something that only she could experience, something that only one in a million or perhaps gazillion people can experience. Her train of thoughts took a sharp turn of track from the present to the past. A sad smile painted her face as she remembered how she thought she was extraordinary every time she had a Déjà vu. The day she discovered Déjà vu was a normal phenomenon, she was extremely heartbroken. She had tossed and turned all night, sleepless. It was a ridiculously sad feeling that still punched a hole in her heart every now and then.

She had to get the experience out of her system in order to reflect on it. She knew she would fail to make sense of it or let go of it until her thoughts escaped the precincts of her mind. She tossed for the last time and snuck out of her bed. The mid-October midnight chill gave her goose bumps. She grabbed his sweater that lay outside-in on the chair, grabbed her bag from the table and carefully sneaked out of the room. She took a long sigh before she took out her PC to start writing. She couldn’t remember the last time she did this. Her fingers slightly shivered as they hovered over the keyboard to bleed the words out of her system.

“Day 1.

Do you know that feeling when your feet are moving but you are not? Do you know that feeling when you are moving towards the light at the other end but you are still consumed by pitch black from all sides? Do you know that feeling when the street feels like a tread mill that is set to one light year per minute? I know it, I felt it and I’ll probably always live with the feeling. And perhaps there will never be anybody who will just listen and try to understand how extraordinary the feeling was.”

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