Ch. 1
CH. 1
Ouch! she said, as she stepped on something spiky. It had been quite a stupid idea to walk barefoot on the rocky pathway.
She sniffed the air; the pleasant aroma of lavender shrouded her, giving her a deep feeling of peace. She took a step forward, relishing the cold breeze, feeling goosebumps on her naked arms. The gravel crunched underneath her feet. The last few rays of the sun diffused into her surroundings, creating a sublime gradient of pinks and blues. She took in a deep breath as she edged nearer to the water, salty air wafting into her nose. Peering into the water, she tried to fathom its depths, feeling the turquoise shades penetrate her weary eyes, cooling them, giving them some respite.
She absentmindedly waded into the light waves, feeling the slippery bumpiness of the mossy protrusions of rock, massaging the aching soles of her feet. She gazed into the retreating form of the sun. It seemingly sank into the expanse of sea, disappearing for some alone time.
Her arms hurt. She didn’t know why; she had gotten quite used to it. Suddenly, her stomach grumbled. Time for some food, she thought, and turned towards her motorcycle.
She fumbled around her pocket, feeling for her keys, grasped the cold metal and swung her leg over the seat. She turned on the ignition and swiftly accelerated. She did love riding her motorcycle, having gotten it as a birthday present from her parents some years ago. She loved the exhilaration of cutting through the winds, the sensations of flying and freedom.
She turned in smoothly and saw the familiar building that she liked to call home. She dismounted and turned off the ignition, and then strolled up the pavement to her humble abode. The door was quickly unlocked; she stumbled to her kitchen and started rummaging for some supplies.
Some pasta was found along with a jar of marinara sauce, and cheese was scoured for. She looked around for something to boil the pasta in, and she found a deep pan. Water was quickly added and salted, and the pasta was dumped in. She searched for some other ingredients to add to the pasta, and found some zucchini and broccoli, her favorite! The garlic was minced and she then found a container of olive oil and added a wee bit to a saucepan. She tossed in the garlic and waited for it to turn a beautiful golden brown, and added in some chopped zucchini and broccoli florets. She waited till the zucchini looked tender, and added in the sauce (and jumped back as it started to bubble and pop rather unnaturally). She checked the pasta, and as soon as it was al dente, she drained it (and saved some of the starchy water for the sauce). She added in the cooked pasta and folded in the sauce, and in the end, added in the leftover pasta water.
She looked for something to eat it in, and happened to find a lovelily large bowl that looked rather suitable. A large portion was served and consequently shovelled into her mouth, and it was realized with a start that she’d forgotten to season it! She ran over to the cabinet, knocked aside several containers and found the salt and hugged it as if it was a long lost friend. She sprinkled some on her pasta (ruefully reminded of ‘salt bae’) and sat down with an air of finality.
Savoring the beautiful taste, she tried to get the most out of the different textures. The richness of the vegetables and the subtlety of the sauce put a smile on her lips. She finished the food, and tried not to eat too fast (but failed massively).
She carefully put her bowl in the sink, and suddenly felt a craving for something sweet. Upon checking the freezer, she found a forlorn box of vanilla ice-cream, her favorite! She scooped some into a small bowl, and spooned some into her mouth. It was smooth and creamy, not too sweet, just the way she loved it.
She waltzed over to her bookshelf, ice-cream bowl in hand, and looked for a suitable book to read, eventually settling on some Shakespeare, and shuffled through the great book, looking for an interesting play she hadn’t touched in a while. ‘The Merchant of Venice’ filled the vacancy, and she set about on a journey to the world of informal lending (a world that wasn’t hers) and caskets.
Some time later, she felt her eyelids drooping and the yawns coming at consecutively shorter intervals. She decided that the time to pump cerebral spinal fluid through her brain cells to remove the metabolic byproducts of the day’s thoughts had come. (It’s called sleep, and it was her bedtime.)
She straightened the covers on her bed and took her fluffy, worn blanket from her bed trolley. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a new blanket, just that she had the unfortunate tendency to become attached to inanimate objects that happened to reside alongside her for over a long enough period of time of, say a week or so? The blanket had been with her for years, providing precious warmth and comfort.
She tucked herself in, bade goodnight to the lamp and fell fast asleep.
