When I Can't Do Anything Else

Halfway to Nowhere

My dwellings of today have to be the most mundane as it can be. It's always in order, too disciplined— arranged in a way I that I can perceive it as messy. Chaotic. Hazy. Flurried by the seemingly predestined constancies of life. I'm bombarded of the everyday chatter of silence, a deafening noise so loud I can taste it. Right by my ears, into my mouth. It's a kind of disorderedness that I've been so accustomed with. An organized mess, it is.

A flip of a page, the movements of an eye, the smell of the atmosphere, the feel of the nothingness that binds everything together— I can feel everything in the most extraordinary of ways, yet limited in to an extent. The darkness lingers in the peripheral's of my vision; the frayed edges of its looming presence is an ever-existent reminder— a reminder of what I can never escape. I run, and run, far as my feet can take me, each step getting unbearably painful as I can run no more... it follows. I'm halfway to nowhere, and I'm still looking for something that I can hold on. I can see myself clinging to the edge of the horizon, feeling how the sun caress my cheeks, trying so hard to know what reaching to twilight sounds like; it's ringing. I can somehow hear it. It's there, I know it. I just need to know for certain. All the way from where I'm sitting, I think an echo of uncertainty is all I've got to spare. A faint hum of doubt and unfailing uneasiness of the meandering future. And before the light of day, I can say for sure that the thrum of an instrument is not just a vibration of the wind.

I may be just a girl that's on the run, but I'm an orchestra of noises that couldn't ever be stopped. I may be trampled by the normalcy of the days, the routinely antics of what I'll alway be and what I'll become of— that isn't me. Your mouth could move in many ways, but my ears are shut tight. The lonely, overcast sky could give me the damnedest, most thunderous storm it could ever brew, and I would just sing along as the rain ravages above. Running all the time gave me the strength to know that it's not always about being scared. It's about knowing that life can start anew when things are looking harsh. I'm running to find a new one. I may be halfway to nowhere, but I'm certain that there's something behind that familiar veil of silence. I'm certain that there's something more to this. I'm sure of it.

I can almost hear it.

//k.u.

***
Note: This was a prose that I wrote for a film project! I thought it'd be a waste if I didn't post it. It's about a deaf girl writing a letter/prose/whatever because she was relentlessly bullied in her school. The goal was to capture her feelings of lonely seclusion with the inborn silence that she was bestowed with. Haha!

Anyway, GIVE ME MOTIVATION TO WRITE MY SCI-FI NOVEL PLS. I'm hyping myself to write one, but my concept's bland and too dry. I like what I'm thinking of, but it seems to be cut short to only an intro and ending. Everything in between seems so unattainable— a long drawn out breath that fades away as your eyelids flutter from the cold wind that howls. Ok, too much? *Sigh* I just want a sci-fi book published in a heartbeat. Is that too hard to ask?