Mistrust of a captured bird

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 drives with each passing second relieving her of the abstractions. She palpitates with the mistrust of a bird that is caught; mistrust gives way to devising the culpable quotient she accrued. She drives relentlessly, without purpose or knowledge of the destination until she runs out of gas and pulls over to a side.

Ursula leaves the vehicle and takes to foot, walks into the strange, desolate gas filling station. She finds the place unguarded, but strangely familiar. She brushes her thoughts away with remonstrance of a child that entertains delusions. She walks her self towards the supermarket with a signboard that read ‘OPEN’, to her dismay; the place is but empty, with neither the customers nor the cashier. She instead of getting appalled at the overtones of sinister perceptions the place offered, walks into the store room that is lit up with lights all the way, reaches the fag end of the room and is about to return when she finds a gorgeous woman standing by the door, nudges the door close, addresses her with a dream like familiarity.
‘Hi, would you like to check out our offers this week?’

Ursula begins by identifying herself to the stranger, apologizes for the intrusion into their store room, and tries to explain that she found the place deeply entertaining for the absence of cashier and the customers. Ursula’s inquisitive attitude pays off, the gorgeous woman speaks in a crispy tone.
‘My name is Julie’
Ursula retorts,
‘What is this place? Why are there no people? Who are you?’
Julie, a woman with slender built, walks her way out towards the main entrance, unheeding Ursula’s inquisitive remarks, pushes the door open, claps with her hands as if to break a spell on Ursula, waves at her with a dissatisfied countenance. Ursula glances in the direction waved by Julie, finds the signboard, which now reads ‘CLOSED’. She reaches out with her hand, turns it over to find that it read ‘CLOSED’ on both the sides.

Ursula, blenched with fear of an allegorical image of her's proffered upon her, sits on a chair, briefly contemplates, closes her eyes and visualizes the whole episode from the beginning. She is determined to allow misguided judgment on her side, stands up in a momentary reflection of her senses to the overt errors she allowed, excuses herself without endeavoring to face the explanation of her waywardness to Julie.

Julie remarks, as if she read Ursula’s deeply seated emotional turmoil.
‘Are you in pain?’
After hearing all of Ursula’s brief encounters with the beguiling opportunities ending in cruel emptiness, Julie puts up a rare countenance on her face reflecting the omniscience, with overtones of shared comprehension of the episodes, she closes her eyes, waves her head hither and thither as if to gauge the misfortunes. This deep contemplation of Julie puts Ursula at unease, albeit she waits there for Julie to open her eyes and deliver her judgment in trance.

At length Julie opens her eyes, with an extensive smile on her face and ventures
‘There is someone who can help you. Would you like to give it a try?’

Ursula stands her ground as if to assess the situation, takes a look at the entrance, and immediately replies in an authoritative voice.
‘What help?’

Julie walks into the counter, pushes few controls, types a few commands on the grey colored key board, and the printer comes alive spitting a paper out. Julie hands it over to Ursula. Ursula grabs at the paper in an unconscious manner, still trying to read the gorgeous woman’s mind standing before her. She is in a strange place, with a strange person, who in an almost disconnected way, is offering help. Ursula feels the warmth of the paper in her hands gratifying, as if the heat is suggestive of an attention, that it is addressing its capability in suffusing through her veins to gratify her, to gather a remote access to preternatural tendencies.

Ursula reads the paper, with each letter and word draining blood and sucking life out of her, she takes her time, slowly ascends and faces Julie. Julie, as if recovered from her own hypnotic reveries, turns the monitor over towards Ursula still assuming the upper hand in the monkish state of affairs. Ursula reads out the entries on the monitor and the dates against each of those entries, she reads out few familiar names aloud and capitulates the lifestyle change into her realms of comprehension. She recollects the decries all of these people assumed and had managed to exude an unrestrained exuberance with an overnight passage of time. As if to allay her doubts on the authenticity of the reports displayed on the panel, Julie throws open a couple of envelopes with signed contracts on the desk before her. Ursula picks up an envelope, reads it through and finds it difficult to grasp the immeasurable touch of fantasy in all of this accrued procedure.

Ursula with a momentary pause of deliverance in speech as if an afterthought, speaks
‘Can I meet the doctor?’
Julie admits the deeply routed apprehensions in Ursula’s mind, but gives her an honest opinion.
‘You have to be impulsive, almost impromptu that greatly reduces the harsh times that lay ahead for you.’

Ursula retracts at this suggestion; lets the statements diffuse in her, acclimatize and appropriate a decision. She, as if pleased with her own performance of displeasure over the narrow room for decision making, over the impudent discovery of her state of mind, contemplates the proffered delicate assertion.

Chapter 2:

Stately, Darrell approaches the wide spread swathe of eminent darkness. He takes a deep breath, lit up his cigarette, takes a couple of deep drags and finds himself deeply reverberated at the silent outfit earth emphasizes to have wore that night. He smirks at the obtusely terrifying turn his life had taken over the last 8 hrs.

Shrinking in an overwhelming despair propelled to unobtrusive depths of consciousness, he witnesses a state of highly matured silence, he absorbs it and lets the unknown grab him by its tentacles and shove him into its tumultuous and resourceful edibility. Taken into awe and inspiration by this experience of the hypnotic river of conscience, he gropes about attentively through the darkness, with screaming agony he demonstrates his will to rekindle his self, something that is his is being taken away from him. He takes a repose, gathers enough might into his act and plunges into the velvety space of insuperable infiniteness, all his strength recoils as if to suggest the nature of it in the occasions of incumbent necessities, delivers a definite shock all around in the vain hope of territorial diplomacy, only to find the shock gracefully vanishing into the grand conjuration. He regains his conscience, with ever depleting pride; he relinquishes his reckoning moments and lets the moments play out in their defined realms. Darrell observes a connection lost and found, formed and replenished, he summons up courage not to defend his might, but to gracefully give up when the occasion demands. He rejoices his remarkable reentry into the hopefulness, but relishes the fantasy of sub consciousness, is troubled by the unutterable, implied impossibility of foreseeing.

Darrell walks along the length of the sidewalk, river running downstream remarks its territory with lucid silence, a clever embodiment of the city's glistening lights above it, impressing on him the vastness, and Darrell finds it amusing that he should chose death in serenity. The sound of water recedes from the fresh chirpiness into despairing silence as he progresses on to the middle of the dam. He plunges into the infiniteness of water, which mocks in self sufficiency at the worthless body of mass that drives itself into the vastness.

The sudden and gripping coldness pulling the breath out of him, he sinks deeper into the water. With his whole body caressing the immeasurable fluidity, arms and legs sensing the buoyancy offerings, stretch involuntarily grabbing on to the richness of water around him, easing his fall into the depths. He observes an established bridge for communication flips over towards the stream flow of intangible wavy patterns, adjusts in a spasmodic and violent jerk, as if to concentrate his senses in the line of communication. The intangible waves perspiring jocularly pulls him down, and he feels the water under his feet looping into curls sucking him into it. Hair over his head and arms point upwards as if begging him to release them. He takes mercy to his hair, quite immobile himself, breathing with Herculean overtones of energy expenses, he suffers concussion, and the world around him shuts off, unreachable to his turned down senses.

Standing on the precarious edge of a stupendous cliff, Darrell tunes his senses to high pitches, imbibes each light ray hitting his retina unfolding a narrow window to the green patches of sunlit plateaus before him. Lifting his leg, he disturbs a stone from its perpetual rectitude of expectancy, he watches as the stone travels into another space and time dimension, and he contemplates if the stone would experience in air, what he did in water. He dissuades his efforts from identifying the tracks towards what seemed to him, a hollow gape, amounting to the proportions that it would belittle a huge creature with its mouth wide open. With the stone vanishing into vague nothingness, he diverts his attention towards the blanket of light covering the green sprouting life. taking a couple of steps forward, he smirks at his inept and languid gait, pushing the novelty of the life from contrasted beauty of brightness and greenery into the ghostly nudity. He strips himself of his clothes and shoes, takes in the relief pills of throwing the knots of pretension in these grasslands asunder from his body.

Cold breeze galloping around the smooth corners of his body, rushing past his ears, booming in resonance, his feet, drenched in superior wetness of grand gratification, with the succulent gasps of breath smoothing the insides of his lungs, eyes responding in pure submission to the sharp and beautiful rays of light, he continues to make his way forward, with each step, emptying his cultured disciplines, abandoning the sick and unwanted emasculations.

Augmenting his relentless impulses of beautification, it begins to rain, droplets of rain hitting his exposed nerve fibers, firing sensual activity from his brain with a co-responsive titillating effect, his invulnerability, amenability lifting him up with no earthly produce holding him down, with nothing to deter, he attains the heights of primordial longevity in the realms of satisfaction. His adrenaline, rushing to catch up with the impending discovery of apotheosis, meets other complimentary propellants of gratification at this unprecedented summoning.

Unable to entertain the unchecked deluge of bliss, he sits himself down, calms down with the state of inertia affronting the factors of inertia independently. goose bumps jocularly rewarding in their adjudication of momentous and placating brooding, each bump on skin subsisting a hair follicle, humorously provocative of the reigning power of emotional upheaval, he takes to feet, runs exerting with his whole body behind his limbs, as he runs, he promotes the detachment of his limbs, gains an unrequited gallop, a thrust forward into the air as the ground beneath his feet slopes downward steeply. He hangs up in the mid air, naked, pocketing all of the available soothing manifestations, scrounges on the humid and dense wish-wash of purity.

Chapter 3:

Ursula, startled, steps away from the glimmering door knob, reaches out for the knob carefully, avoiding the knob's line of attack. With the door closed behind her, she finds the contrasted darkness inside utterly terrifying, loneliness emasculates her, and she stands in attention, the degree of which, a mannequin would find hard to imitate. with her arms pulled tight close to the body, she opens her eyes prepared for the worst, takes few steps into the corner of the room, takes refuge in the corner, sitting with her arms and limbs closer to the body, she gains confidence, but still not coming in grips with the darkness. She has to face this, win over the darkness, the reign of terror must come to an end, she must be free again, palpitating with anger, she jumps to her feet at once, takes a couple of steps towards the window, careening in nimble steps, hits a table on the way, burning sensation in her right knee, but she can't let the opportunity evade her, she must move ahead and liberate her self from this impending dark territory. As she reaches for the window, her strength gives way to helplessness, she gropes in the darkness for the chain, unable to find it, inept, ill favored to work her way out in darkness, she screams in anger and frustration, couple of minutes pass by and she finally pulls the blinds up from over the windows, letting the daylight submerge her in its protective shield.

Sunlight's disobedience to Ursula in offering the warmth and granting her peace, its failure in sucking out her dark agonies, leaves her with a destructive prospect. She has to leave this place, this reality, this implied graveness, improper cerebral atmosphere. She leans over on the table, sits her self down in a moment of panic, in a moment of attention for her self, her, argumentative mind not pacified over the stature confides in her the ultimate posture. She appreciates the confidence her mind sought, leaves the chair to sleep over the carpet on the floor facing the roof of the room. Pale yellow in color, with streaks of purple leaving an impression of submission to the eye in manifesting into forms and shapes with the blink of an eye. She stares at the roof with a vibrant attitudinal shift from panic to 'calm and composed'. As the clock ticks by, she gathers spirit and courage, but hope is hard to come by, her perseverance weightless, floats above her, netting weightless emotions, but can't float far away from her to grab hope by its horns and bring it to her, for it’s her inability to offer sufficient weight to the net of perseverance. She troubles herself with the acquired decency, plays safe, lest the net should flow away into the ‘never never land’.

Her attempts to escape into the dream world, the world of animated visions, world of order, and world of beauty fail miserably. she has to find a way out, she manages to cut her senses out, turns over to face the carpet, watches the dark brown carpet with her nose resting on it. She watches as the small circular loops on the carpet suffuse through her senses, she holds her breath in brilliant amaze as she feels the familiar oblivion just round the corner, she has tasted this flavor before, she is about to experience the beautiful vagueness, charming endearment, the abstraction, negation and contradiction to the phenomenally acquainted reality. She exposes her wonder and awe, tunes her senses to the approaching ambitious vigor, prospect of fulfillment, smell of imploding self aggrandizement, transmogrifying into a palpable sensual tingling at the back of her head. Her neural sensitivity responds in favor, adjudges the need and necessity of an entry into the world of uncanny affluence, and grants her with a bridge hanging in mid air. She endeavors to fit the bridge to travel from the impure and improper real world to the imaginary world. But the wild and tumultuous world of imagination presents an abstractive face, and she tries vainly to bridge abstraction of imagination with concreteness of reality. And, then it happens she manages with all her might to bridge the bulbous gap between the worlds of abstraction and concreteness; she is opening the doors of perception to travel through this bridge. She did the unimaginable, but then, this happens. A speck of dust lifted by a whiff of air, finds itself in the field of her vision on the carpet, seeking attention. She tries not to think of it, but its too late, the bridge is lost, and her senses are retreating back into their shells of concreteness. Before she knew it, before she could act and arrest this, it happened and she is back in her room staring at the carpet.