Ginger drafts...

The feeling of emptiness pursued her ruthlessly, she wandered hither and thither aimlessly, but stubborn in her wavering, with an instinct supporting her, and beckoning her to step forward. Ursula wondered how irrational it might appear for an outsider, how superbly inane, and how inelegant. But, she would not let these external faculties ruin her person, her character, and her intuition. What would I like to have? Ursula thought, what did the broad nosed man know, what she wanted, did it matter.' just a cup of tea please', waiter left, but the expression that he put up on his face attracted her, summoned her articulation, and she opened her brown book with golden letters embossed on the front page, began writing with her fountain pen. She wrote ' the short, stout man, walking past the table in a steady gait robbed me of my intuition, now I feel his creation, my thoughts horribly becoming his. He stared at me, as if he knew prematurely, all my thoughts. His standing there a

How could I live in this accumulated filth, thought Ursula, her retarded intellect enticed, pushed her into conformity. She despised conformity, it allowed little or no promptness, no adjudication of humane impulse, this imploded constriction repelled her, but, instead of escaping, she submitted to this infernal force, she had to know, she had to win over this. Ursula existed in moments, lived in capsules of time and space, and the capsules rhythmically disposed to travel, to travel....into lands of submission, into lands, where promises are made, prostrates acknowledged, conscience deplored, spontaneity rejected. She cried with despair that tore her senses asunder, she could not feel anymore, she did not want to, she assumed indifference, provoked attention from the mechanized system. She tried to jump out of the capsule, to save a wistful creature, to save herself. But, where was the plane? She sensed anger, but her senses affronted her, they strung out in the chain of volition, deta

Fans blades cutting through the swamp of gaseous mixture, pushed the air past her voluminously, dried out her perspiring numbness and stroked her chilling facetiousness. Ursula sat her self on the bed; her frock frolicking over the floor ran up towards the bed over her, forming a veil of detachment. Her dark leather shoes with pinned up mounds of red triangular velvets, pursued their delicacy in distancing her from the uncouthness beneath them. Ursula slipped her shoes off her feet, observed as they fell down, slowly she moved her feet, and slowly she put her feet on the floor. A tinge of shock wave ran down her spine, spitting goose bumps on her nape and back, she shivered, held her fists tight, took huge gasps of breath, slowly the rudeness gave way to a proposition, to confer or to confute the passive support proffered upon her. Goose bumps retreated back, all of them together, as if the central nervous system in a fitful anger, spat hot molten fluid over the epithelial layers on th

Sitting her self on the perimeter of a beautiful fountain, Ursula wondered how trivial her life was. Clouds overhead dissolved into one another, gaped at her, made funny faces, and retreated into the great body of sky. Great body of water before her silently observed as if in muse, blankly stared at her, through her, and she felt disembodied, formless, sitting there, she felt invisible to herself, existing only in the moments of action, but otherwise dissolving into the surroundings. She summoned all her substance, when an external object called in question, but otherwise she remained formless, non-existential. Time, what does she care about time, she did not like intoning those words to a stranger, but she did, ten past seven, stranger was pleased, and she disembodied again, dissolved into molecules, she did not want to exist, if it was for dispelling time to strangers, the world could live without her, she was insignificant, world doesn't need her, her presence is ephemeral, she

Ursula had to become a child again, play hide and seek with her childhood friends, hide in the dilapidated building that stood like a fortress shadowing her house and the entire neighborhood. The building was only a couple of blocks away from her house, it often provided her the solitude, and the grim reality of life, with its overhanging gardens, unchecked grew indiscriminately in and around the building. She invariably went to the second floor to hide, it gave her pleasure to walk on those creaking stairs that led to the second floor, it was a confirmation from the building, that it was behind her, supportive, and she felt it incumbent on her to allow for the building 'self gratification'. A giant squid like marks on the roof of the second floor always amused her, she felt connected to those marks, often she would gape at the beauty of it, marvel at the sensual authority building had on her senses. All the neighbors commented on the bad shape of the building, they spoke in a

Chapter 1: Ursula finds herself unsettled and devastated, she tries to scream out with all of her explosiveness. She was not prepared for this outcome. The director, a man of weak structure, with his steady walk lingers towards her petulantly. 'This is not my project anymore, you do understand that. Don’t you' She outwardly calms down, clears her throat with an almost sluggish demeanor as if to push her burning rage towards the insides of her throat, speaks up with creaking noises, and mincing words, not letting her thoughts have any portion of disgust over her inabilities. 'I did not realize that until now. Have a good day.' She leaves the place as the director furtively watches her departure, remarks on the growing antagonism and unapproachable indifference in her with his secretary. Ursula hits the road in her blue SUV, drives impatiently with the indiscriminate city traffic growing in her senses into oblivion, manages to rip past the traffic into the outskirts and d