Someone who couldn't wait to see Someone

He woke up one morning with a certain suddenness like a song had just been turned on with a flick that would never leave his head... He walked his walk towards the empty kitchen in a slow pathetic manner. This he had done intentionally, and the showdown of needles that clattered his stomach affirmed to this intention. Then he sat on the most readily accessible white monoblock chair he could spot, while the attempt of distorting his mouth kept him from grinning.

He sat there for sometime, staring unknowingly at the pentagonal wooden clock right above and in front of him, and noticed its fine red hands strolling along, but quickly lost track of them many times.

Even the penetrating morning silence he had failed to take note. The song now seemed to revolve round the same easy lines, and at times, on the same phrases too, but it sounded just right. He slouched in the chair, his back bent in a dismal arch, the left hand fell lifeless on the table edge from the wrist, and both his feet crossed each other, stretching as far as comfort could inbue them.

30 minutes before first class, and he had been slouching there for considerably a very long time, especially that it was a thursday morning. He would be late, but this imminent delay he had welcomed too with such spirited mood like a rightful excuse to an irrepressible furor of excitement

Then the light of the flourecsent bulb had then caught his attention. So he tried to follow the light, as a detective tracing its path, and later found himself staring at the flourecsent bulb itself. While the same song played industriously in his head and his face never failed on its distorting acts, until it seemed that if someone had observed him intently, one would conclude that he was making faces at him and in a very insulting manner too.

THen Mother had asked him a question, and he had heard it sufficiently enough but had thought then that the manner by which his mother had asked the question was quite indifferent and apathetic, like behind a glass wall. So his mother dropped it and decided to leave him alone.

THe needles in his stomach continued on pressing and as time went by felt more like nails, and he welcomed it in high spirits, spinning them himself as in a dance. He brought the spoon to his mouth for the sake of putting something in it, then took note of the half fried egg and the steaming fried rice that lay, then left the breakfast table, and left it all behind- almost in a leap