On the yellow path

Life feels so surreal. I wake up every day different like I am several people from a videogame crammed in one body, spontaneously changing character as they please. Like the sky is always different, so am I. Pastel pink and blue skies calm me, but ferocious burning ambers warm and thrill me. I've heard that you should challenge yourself once every day, getting out of bed can be mine today. Ahh. As I drag my legs out of bed like pulling a rusty anchor from the bottom of the ocean,  I can endure the standard blunt ache, pain and soreness in every fibre of every muscle of my legs from my training/torture of the night before telling me that they've had enough, begging me not to push them anymore but I fight the desire to collapse back down and continue to walk anyway.

I'm not a 'morning person', but I do secretly love the mornings. I dislike being disturbed from my escape of reality, a beautiful senseless dream after forcing myself to face the day and remove myself from the comfort of my bed that always feels like I am the filling of a fluffy cloud sandwich in the morning but any strangers cold bed at night. All of this counterbalanced with the sun, soft but blinding, peaking over the black outlines and shapes of buildings shooting golden rays at my dusty window that seep light through the oak wooden blinds whilst the room glows with an autumn warmth. Most of all the blissful silence and numbness of the world and my mind. Erased memories, empty roads and lifeless streets. If I'm lucky, I won't remember the stresses and worries of yesterday for a while, I will feel light and free like helium has been pumped into my lungs, as if I could float out the window and touch the sunlight with my fingertips. Until the deafening ring of the alarm shakes me out of my bubble and i become exposed to the harsh world we live in. The silence is interrupted by the buzzing of merged voices getting louder and closer, the light is blocked out by scrambles of crowds and endless numbers of indistinctive faces, I remember everything i  wanted to forget and suddenly I am not floating, i am falling, faster than  my brain can process. Overwhelming thoughts swarm my mind like distressed bees in a hive flooded and oozing with honey.

 My body takes control and routinely stretches my arms upwards reaching for the ceiling knowing I won't contact it as I slowly rise up to my toes and with the cracks of my bones,  I'm ready. Some days I will mask my skin with makeup like painting a clear canvas and line my rather large and strangely coloured eyes, that are hazel-green but wrapped in a ring of grey-blue, with dark black pencil hoping to make them appear stone cold and soulless to blank out any real emotion written on my face.  Other days I splash chilled water on my pale face, and leave the house feeling fresh and raw. My hair is usually the same, a lovely long golden mess, just how I like it. I unravel half undone plaits from the night before and  let loose the wavy locks when I ruffle them through my fingers. I put on my pale blue shirt, navy knit jumper, navy pleated skirt, over knee white socks and black smart lace up shoes. My stroll to school is one grey concrete path slicing through a large green field bordered with trees and bushes. When I enter the grassland I am met by a thick blanket of fog like a dome, isolating me from other bodies. At the end of the field a bottle green gate sees you off past the zebra crossing to the next , the school gate.

Lessons are a haze I spend most of them making ink dance upon paper in anticipation that the location I am in might slip my mind or staring out of squares at the open vivid sky and rattling leaves on branches resembling arms trying to grasp something out of reach, as if i were admiring a painting, whilst wondering. Just wondering. Often I imagine travelling the world. Where I would go, all the things I would do and see there. Or winning Gold at the Olympics, how alive and accomplished I would feel. These farfetched ideas excite me like a storm stirring up inside. Until I realise that the last 20 minutes of the teachers words have been a waste of her breathe. It is all just background noise to a film I was watching in my head.  I question things a lot, maybe too much. I am very curious. why am I here? Do we all have a purpose? What if everyone around me are just characters to my life living in my world? What if there is a God, what if there isn't? How is there a world and life, how did it get here? Everything has a cause. If the world was created by God then who created God? If the world was created through the big bang theory, how did space exist anyway? Where does everything begin? and that gets  me thinking, there must be no reasonable answer. It must be something we already deem impossible... like magic. I'm not sure why but that always gives me confidence that anything, and i mean anything is possible. Oops. There goes another 10 minutes of a lesson wasted on unanswered questions and pointless thoughts.

Author's Note

Still rough, just wanted some opinions.

Reviews

[vaishnavi]

your writing is very catching
very attractive indeed and your title is very interesting its a nice chapter i think you should add some thing more on it it will make it a little more attractive and more interesting or you can create another chapter by the way its up to you in short to say its just beautiful