My throat filled with fluid, reaching down my body. Keeping me down, leaving me fighting to get to the shore. In futile. Left paralysed, as my body is submerged under water. My body smothered with water, immersing deeply into the well of hollowness with no way to flee. “No. Help” I hear myself scream. The bleak darkness drowning, flooding me into a sinking void. “Please. Stop it” I hoarsely whisper, spiralling in and out of consciousness, trying to escape. My closed eyes swarming with bright light, leaving me momentarily hazed. My body tightening, seizing as I have become delirious. Feeling uncontrollable as my chest constricts with my throat compressed into knots unable to bring in oxygen. “Stop. Stop” I inwardly whisper, needing to leave this hellish trance. Beams of intense luminosity emerging in my vision. Glowing, brown eyes alighting, their breath exhaling. Yielding my body to arch, the heaviness of my chest relinquishing in sync with their breathing. Immersing me into calmness, oxygen coming back to me as my throat clears. The illuminating, brown eyes rising, providing tranquillity. Serenity washes over me as the feminine voice lulls “breathe” in a hushed murmur. “Breathe” the soft voice repeats again. My eye flashing open, unblinkingly staring at the naked walls, sweat gathering around my forehead and body. With a fast-beating heart and heavy breathing, I get out of bed and into the bathroom. Splashing water on my face, washing away the last remnants of the nightmare.
Anxiousness simmering inside my body, adrenaline bursting through my veins as I walk to my makeshift painting area. The blank canvas mimicking the end of the dream, creating the image that surfaced in my dream. Itching with dire need to be released and created. The dark sky, transforming into early morning with birds chirping. Not with the times and hours, as I sunk myself into running away from the hallucinating illusion. Turning the heaviness that is left in my body into a state of peace. Finishing the touches of the latest painting I have curated. With the rest of my paintings already in the gallery I am prepared for the exhibition. As I brush the last stroke, I step back exhaling at the wonder that my eyes lay on. As I let it sit for two hours, I begin to shower and get ready to convince the head curator to put this forward with the rest of the art.
Taking an uber to the gallery, my mind lingers on the stranger women I had the seconds with, lightly hoping I will bump into her again. Somehow not being able to forget. Walking with intention as I have reached the entrance, I see Miguel dressed in colourful clothing, an open chested red shirt, black artisan blazer and trousers with unique designs. Miguel was a European Spanish man whom I have met in New York art exhibition in my art gallery. Within seconds we hit it off, talking about the arts culture, our favourite artists and collections. Since then we have stayed in contact with each other and maintained a friendship relation.
He greets me with enthusiastic arm movements as soon as he sees me, eyeing the black bag in my hand. “I need this piece to be included in the exhibition” I demand bluntly. Miguel stares at me, piercing me with emotionless eyes that wants to tell me off for a cold welcome. But he needs to know my seriousness when I don’t have time to play nice. He signals for me to follow him, heading to his office upstairs. Once we have reached, he closed the door behind me, I lay the bag on the empty table, unravelling the painting for Miguel’s eyes. He stands beside me, taking in a sharp breath, without saying another word he turns towards me “is this who I think it is” he questions. Knowing what his underlying words mean “yes” I utter, “this needs to be in the exhibition, it completes the collection perfectly” I continue. With Miguel in deep thought, I shake away the jitters that comes with being patient, suddenly sighing in admission he says “okay, we can make adjustments. She must be beautiful, for you to be bothered like this” he jokes, but his eyes reflecting respect. Miguel was a person who embraced vulnerability, he never let the ego drive him into making his decisions, he enjoyed being in companies that think alike and who are not crippled by their ego, their identity and not being afraid of humanly feelings and desires. So, with him knowing who this was and me wanting to show this painting in public, he valued me and even more so, this friendship because of it.
Taking the painting in his hand, we go downstairs to the floor of the exhibition, placing it in the focal point of the collection, the centre wall. “Do you oppose” he prompts with one raised eyebrow.
“No, absolutely not” I affirm, feeling accomplished knowing the last art had finalised the collection.
Going back to my hotel suite, I make a start to get ready with spending the whole of afternoon in the gallery, preparing and organising the event, time flew by me. With Miguel picking me up for the evening, I pour myself a drink to remove the apprehensiveness that are rising.
Walking into the gallery, bustling with people and photographers. Grabbing champagne in the entryway, studying those who are looking at the art. The best part about being an artist and establishing your painting in art galleries is the anonymity from publicity. With painters, artists, art investors recognising you due to the close-knit community we have formed for ourselves. Diving right in as I start to talk leisurely with interested customers, negotiating prices with their likened art, positive feelings of success surging as one art had been sold. Long black hair in my peripheral vision convincing myself that it is not real and only imaginations that exist from my dream. Informing the staff that this painting has been sold, they begin to discuss buying the art with the costumers. The long-haired stranger stopping at the latest painting, moving closer and deeply analysing it. With my focus strained, I begin to watch her, her form, her skin and the stunning dress pulling me to her place. Instinctively, my feet walk towards her, eyeing the way she moves closer to the painting. Stopping just behind her inhaling a waft of her flowery, vanilla scent “No, it can’t be” I internally whisper to myself. Out of all places. She is here, knowing she felt my presence I move backwards only for her to turn around and bump into me.
Helping to balance her, I place my hand on her lower back. Silky smooth skin burning my fingers alive. Her scent engulfing me, her wide eyes blinking back at me in recognition and in shock. “We need to stop meeting like this” I mutter light-heartedly with a grin, simmering the feelings wanting to surface. “My name is Ezra” I prompt, waiting for her to speak.
She pushes back to maintain distance, “My name is Luna” she begins “you need to stop appearing where I can’t see you” she says. She studies me curiously. Looking at the person who inspired my painting, her alluring, mesmerising eyes, opening her mouth in futile as her words become unspoken.
“This painting was inspired by you” I mumble, “from the last time I saw you to now, I was not able to forget you. You came up in my dreams and you are what I painted. I want you.” I utter in hushed tone.
(Another part. Couldn’t help myself. Writing this got me excited of the prospects. I’m proud of the characters that are coming alive. Writings from a current story. Thank you for reading 😀 ).
Darkness looming behind her eyes, as her chest tightens. “No” she screams. “Please, leave me alone” she whispers as sweat drenches her face, tremors shaking her body as she screams, yet, feels like no-one can hear her agonizing cries. Her mouth moving in futile, as no sound escapes her lips. Her breathing uneven as oxygen blocks her airways. Tears streaming down her face as she relives the doom. Her pain, anguish worsening, pinching at her skin ricocheting through her body. “No. Please leave me alone” she whispers whilst her voice breaks, her cries swallowing her screams, her mind capturing her screams.
In an instant, I sit up, my hair stuck to my skin. Tears stricken face, licking my dry lips to add moisture back only to taste the salty tang of my tears. Clenching my hands in fists on my head, as I begin to curl up bringing my legs to my chest. Trying to forget the night terrors that never escapes me, wanting to be released from the shackles. My chest releasing the tightness that it held as I catch my wavering breath. Inhaling… Exhaling… Closing my eyes, feeling the surge of magnetizing energy that surrounds me, feeling my body connect with my soul.
“I am okay. I am safe. I am alive” I chant in repeated motions, releasing the tension from my body.
My muscles unclenching and memories slithering back into the back of my head. Removing the remnants of clothing, I open the bedside drawer and pick up the toy from the back of the drawer. Laying down on my back as I force myself to forget, living in pretense and blocking my mind of unwanted memories. Closing my eyes, as I enter my happy place, my safety net. Allowing my fingers to explore the soft, suppleness of skin. Reaching up to my breasts, kneading them. Circling around the nipples, enjoying the soft sensations that are rising. Gently squeezing them as I play with them, the feelings of pleasure going through my stomach, down my clit. The act of touching myself, stimulating arousal.
Opening my legs wide, bringing them up with my feet flat on the mattress. I slide my fingers down my body to my clit, feeling the moisture that arose. Picking up the vibrator, I press it against my body relishing at the gentle sensations that my body radiates, moving it down and pressing it against the clitoris. Eliciting a moan as the pulses from the vibrations move through my body, deepening as I pinch a nipple. The pleasure shooting straight down my clit, the fervency of the intensity arising “him” I murmur. Clenching the mattress in fists as the blissful sensations build, increasing the vibrations with toes curling and eyes going at the back of my head. Rocking my body against the mattress as the throbbing heightens and my chest becomes alight. “His” I moan as the pulsating trembles unleashes the dam, reaching the earth shattering orgasm, as my body quivers. Heightening the levels as I ride out my orgasm. Feeling the aftermath of the act sliding down, my body floating and feeling light. My muscles lax as sleep washes over me.
(A little segment from a story I am currently writing. Thank you for reading).
The rhythm of the ocean swaying gently into the shore. The soft, tender breeze caressing my face. The cool wind quietly swallowing my loud mind. My feet pillowing the smooth sand, the water mirroring my pained reflection. My eyes magnifying the troubled soul that wanted to let out the cries, wanting to be heard, wanting to be felt.
I dreamt of living near the ocean, to live in a place where I could be in solitude, living in the silence and being surrounded by Earth’s nature. For wishing that the first thing I wake up to is the sight of the ocean, and for the last vision that my eyes see before entering a dreamless state is the sight of the ocean.
Walking back towards my home. The well-lit up lanterns on both of the pillars in my front porch providing a dimly lit glow, walking up the steps and opening the door to be welcomed with sweet heaven. Living alone had provided me with safety I have never felt, comfort I seek, in not relying on anybody but my own self. Looking at the place that I have created, the spacious opening. The airy space of this house had me hooked and captivated in its beauty, for the crisp sounds of the ocean echoing into my home, instant lull of peace. My safe haven, my healer. Breathing in and exhaling, living within the atmosphere of Earth’s nature, the cleanliness of the cooling air, the autumn breeze giving me goosebumps, the little hairs on my arms standing up. Gazing at the open space of the ground floor. The bright shades of whites and grays opening the house, the simplicity of my home allowing my mind to breathe, in bringing harmony in my soul and spirit. Walking down the hallway, up the stairs, through the expansive hallway with walls that are filled with my favourite people, decorated with personal art, down the corridor to my bedroom. The glass interior allowing the first glance to be the picturesque, serene view of water which the night sky accompanies. The full moon being a hint of pink leaving me breathless at the sheer beauty of the visionary sight, the lunar moon is a sight to behold as I gaze at the glimpses of differing shades of grey. The gleaming, shimmering stars illuminating the darkness, beautifying the sky with its glistening celestial galaxies. Pure heaven.
Laying in the bed, pulling the duvet over my body. Bringing myself in a straight position lying on my back, I dread the moment when sleep should take over me. The memories, thoughts, the emotions that want attention, wanting to surface into my consciousness overpowering me. I dread the moments of nightfall. The tides of the ocean lulling me into drowsiness.
“There is peace in acceptance” I whisper.
“I am not identified with pain” I utter.
“My suffering does not make me who I am” I affirm.
“I am okay” I speak.
Yet, the tears begin to roll down my cheeks into my hairline, the flow of tears rushing down my face. Turning to my sides, with my knees up and a hunched back, squeezing the side of my pillow into the shape of a fist. The hot tears continuously streaming down my face, my body shaking along with the waves of the heaving tears, wheezing until I become breathless with sore skin. It has always been like this, for years the void in my soul getting heavier, deepening into my being disappearing into abyss, into emptiness. Overcome with sleep, my eyes begin to close, as sleep takes over me, silencing me into a subconscious trance. Before swimming into unconsciousness, “Save me.” I murmur, unknowingly mumbling the words that have shifted my whole goddamn world.
(Thank you for reading. This is a prologue for a passion project. Hope you have enjoyed what is written so far. Much Love, Konijja)