Chantal didn’t finish the story. After gazing through the few lines that she had written, her search for a known voice abandoned her.
She sat near the window, still holding her pen, playing with it in a steady rhythm, Chantal thought of something and rushed back to her seat. She wrote in her notebook–
It appears as if the joy within
Knows nothing about the war within
Pausing for a moment, she then closed her notebook with a rough jerk. Chantal got up and walked back towards the window, this time leaving the pen behind, letting it rest on the table.
Her gait reflected her confused, unsure, restless state of mind. Chantal took a deep sigh and then without giving it a thought, wrote the word ‘Incomplete’ on the windowpane; a hazy layer of fog on it allowed her to.
Chantal’s eyes fell on something interesting, something which was moving towards her house, she smiled. Her hand poked her cheek as she pondered over the matter.
Suddenly, she opened the window and shouted, ‘Hi, how are you? It has been so long…’
A muffled voice replied, it made Chantal laugh heartily.
A smiling Chantal then closed the window and ran towards the door, opened it and left. Her footsteps on the wooden floor made a fine music.
- Darkness and Pleonasm
- Agnes Obel and The Narrative
- A Would-Be Pirate Pasha de Roos and the Parkinson’s Law
- Interviewing A Busy Ant