While I Sleep™ • ✓

1: New Home

Yes. He wants to forget.

He keeps walking, not knowing what he will do in his upcoming times. All he knows is that he will have to face his future, whether it is the shortcomings or the good times.

His hands are in the shape of curved leather balls inside the pockets of his sweatshirt. His head is covered with the black, soft and comfortable fabric. The sweatshirt is oversized and comes till his thighs. Bangs of his brown ebony hair mildly sway in various directions as he walks; walks away into a place unknown.

He is scared. He is worried. He doesn't know if this move is worth making, but neither does he want to live in anxiety and fear.

He is outside, outside the compounds of this place. This place where he used to live.

He stands outside the big, black metal gate. His eyes are fixed at the topmost window of the large, pale white building. The window is broken. He can see him standing by the window, giving him a look of assurance that the move is worth making. But he also knows he is just imagining, and that it is his conscience that is speaking.

He exhales deeply, before he turns around as his shoes screech.

It's cold. And the aura around him is uncertain. But he knows that what he is trying to do, is for his own good. His hands are curved into fists as he walks further. The loose sweatshirt allows minuscule amount of air pass in and out.

His breath is unstable, yet at the same time, normal.

It's early in the morning and not many people have yet come out of their houses. Just the public transport vehicles are moving around lazily.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Quiet enough to let him hear his own heartbeat. Quiet enough to let a hint of repentance flow in him. But he is not going back. He is not choosing suffering.He will live on with life from now on. He might be alone from now on, but he will learn to be more independent and confident.

He abides to walk towards his ride of freedom, towards his ride of (maybe) peace from all the torture.

His head still hangs low, his eyes are fixed on the ground. He continues to walk at the usual pace, neither does it reduce, nor does it increase.

A cool breeze blows across, brushing against the slightly exposed skin of his face. The breeze hits his hood as the black, cupped shaped part of his upper cloth falls backwards. He likes it to be honest. The breeze is cold and it sends shivers down his body. The breeze makes him contract a little in order to keep warm, but he likes this new feeling of freedom. He likes the fact that he is no more in the old, pale white building anymore, mourning and crying over what happened a few months ago.

His hands finally open up from the curved state as he pulls them out of pockets and brings them upwards to put his hood back on.

A cold sting finds its way to his hands. He puts his hands back into his pockets as he walks further.

He has been walking for long now. He has almost reached the ride that takes him away from grief. His eyes are a light shade of brown and they resemble a walnut. His body is in perfect shape and he has now started to get stares from the people that have appeared on the streets.

Within seconds, he finds himself amongst a jostling crowd. It's not very comfortable. Not quite contenting. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like the amount of people around. But not every place is so crowded right?

He's here.

He lets out a deep, nervous sigh as he heads further. He goes downwards, where the stairs lead him.