~The Hug Part 02 – The Maker’s Embrace~

Hidden behind closed doors, she twirled around the imaginary psychedelic-coloured sheets that hung from the ceiling down, dancing amongst books, boxes and paper, laid all over her grey-fur-coated carpet, albeit in a 21st century-inspired thrashed-up look. That tiny yet significant fraction of her time was semiconsciously-dedicated to her ever-refurbishing yet repulsive insanity.

Sheets of Kleenex came to waste at a rate best described, almost immediately. Fresh from the box, she flung them a-piece-at-a-time into the air, sheet following another, bracing a weak smile on her tender face. An endeavouring scene almost to the extent of being branded ‘disturbing’, it was a sight to behold.

Soothing the awkward yet revolting settings of her world, Josh Groban was on replay on her media playlist. It almost seemed as if she was till the irreversible state of being lovelorn. It was as if this scene had been directly ripped off a chick flick, at the stage where the female actress was falling hopelessly in love.

Kristine was twenty-three, with bursting youth and raging passion within. Although she was not of noble birth, she led her life as though she were royalty. Humble royalty, that is. Armed with the riches that never seem to deplete, an intellect not many could compare themselves to, and an outlook that only two heavenly words could describe. God sent.

A strong girl too, she picked herself up from a failed relationship. She had finally seen the holy light, the bright amber that guides her to spiritual enlightenment. She had made the choice, of being embraced by none but one. Herself.

Fear results in the monster in you and that fear builds up the monster. It is unleashed from within, though considered controllable by yours truly. People get carried away by putting too much in the monster, forgetting that there is no monster. The monster only lives in the reflection of your fear. The monster is nothing without the raging fear within you…

The scene reverts back to her bordoir once again, though this time without the hallucinations. The mess and thrashed-up look remains intact, though as her vision cleared up, she realised she never did dance that long a time. She lay on her carpet, though it was wet, as if soaked with a liquid substance.

She now remembered. The flying Kleenex. Though the detailed picture now materialised in her mind. The Kleenex stained with blood deemed fresh too. Laid on the corner of her space amongst the boxes and paper was an orange object. Something that now in through her eyes became all too clear. The orange penknife she used to slit her left wrist. The music gently crooning on the background, bringing back that familiar feeling she felt, though in a different setting this time.

She had finally come to this point of her life. She could now shut her eyes and rest now. And be embraced by the maker.




Josh.