The Writer, the Sinner & the Puppeteer

Alone in his room, he attempted to discern the myriad of thougts and emotions that ran through his veins. In that state of sombre solitude, he was visited by the many horrid visions. His heart paced. He inhaled harder the air which had been overpowered with an uncanny scent of wilted lavender.

His frail, quivering hand on the typewriter. No words could ever describe the caucophony of sentiments playing inside him, touching him to his very core. Never could he comprehend how affected he could be at the recurrence of such vicissitude.

For Life had once again turned its grim face upon him. Life, then peering at him through its horrid sunken eyes, threatened to reveal its dark secrets which would challenge his very belief in his very own existence. Yet all this wasn’t a stranger to him. Only this time, he found himself trapped in his own mechanism. A vile plot that had taken a dark twist. The puppeteer had become his own puppet, entagled in an indomitable web of Chance.

He could only wait for whatever retribution that Life had for him. His heart ever praying for mercy, yet knowing that he was no longer worthy of such propitious reprieve. The venemous verdict had been vouched. And the prisoner only lives in the excruciating wait of his fated punishment.



© 2007 zahidyne