Plague

She lay on her bed, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what to do. She noticed the fine cracks that had started to appear around the ceiling fan. She imagined being buried under it if it ever fell while she was sleeping. She was strange that way. Always imagining the worst. It prepares me, she justified to herself.

It was a Friday, or was it Thursday? She really didn't care. Her nonchalance, the kind that comes when u have been wading in the pool of success for a long, long time, wasn't a hindrance in any way. She liked to call herself insouciant. She had come across that word through her reads and it had stuck. She enjoyed the way her tongue rolled it out.

She casually ran her fingers through her hair. They needed a wash perhaps. Maybe she could highlight them over the weekend. Or maybe just chop it off. Life handed over another dilemma. She looked at her nails, then chewed on the corner of one, before mentally chiding herself and stopping. The sound of a car backing up found its way through the window. She hated that sound, and as a result, the people who used that kinda thing. She started to hum a random tune to distract herself.

Her thoughts traveled to another time. She shuffled through her mind and then paused at that day in the library. She was idling away, looking for a different read. She had reached out for a book but instead had toppled over many others. She had bumped her head trying to pick them all up. Cursing under her breath, she arranged all the books back. The last one had screamed out to her. It was a black cover with the words PLAGUE embossed on it in red. It had cried out for attention, as if somehow it deserved a read. She scrutinized it from front and back and out of a whim decided to take it home. All she remembered of that book now was that it was melancholic, like today.

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