Green World.

The grass moved to and fro like some giant unseen hand was brushing against it, almost caressing it gently. A sweet scent roamed about in the breeze. It was reminiscent of a nymph in the forest; smiling as she slowly intertwined her cold and soft hand with his and led him into the heart of the jungle, the untouched heart that no man even knew existed.

There in the distance lay the giant green wall of grass, each blade on it moving gently with the breeze. It almost seemed like a crowd of green in a moment of giant applause. It was the ground, not a wall. The world bent upwards and formed a giant arc and rejoined the ground behind him. The soft velvety grass took the impact of his fall as he fell on his back and looked skywards into the grassy skies of the night. This world was like a giant hamster’s wheel made of grass and soft breeze. It kept going, just like a treadmill. But this too needed a power source, exactly like the treadmill.

“Think good thoughts. Think calm thoughts. Go back to the green place.”

Too late. The thought had already passed by. No more grass; no more breeze. Only reality now. The ground wasn’t soft anymore. The walls weren’t green anymore. The paint on the four walls of this small room was peeling off at places, revealing the grey innards of the building. As he lay on the ground, he looked up at the ceiling. A giant hook hung from there.

“What’s the hook for?”

Oh this is an owled fashioned room sire, that’s where they hung one of them fans from, y’know so that the room becomes all nice and breezy?

“Kill me now. This is the nice and breezy of the real world? No thank you,” he thought to himself.

He got up from the cold hard ground.

“What a shitty view.”

He couldn’t tell if he was thinking out loud or not. He turned around to see the look on the broker’s face just to double check. Well, all seemed well in that regard.

The room overlooked a dark alley. No means of natural lighting. The only natural lighting came from his imagination. Leaning up against a wall, a hobo was eating some inscrutable morsel of food. He went pretty hard at it. Each bite left a larger trail of food and saliva dribbling down his giant grey beard.

“I sincerely hope whatever he is eating is something edible. Maybe I should stop by at the local mart and give this guy some food,” he mused.

“Where is the nearest local mart?”

Just round the corner. Wouldn’t recommend going that side ‘o town, though. We just had an old man take out his tooty fruity aim and shooty and terrorize the lot there yesterday.

“Great, just fucking great. I may get killed while buying eggs.”

Sorry, sir?

Shit. He was thinking out loud again. That was never a good sign.

“How much for the place?”

300 quid a month.”

He felt like punching in the broker’s front two silver teeth. That grin deserved to go.

He scanned the place one last time like it mattered.

“This won’t do. Show me some other place.”

He stumbled out the door into the dark corridor that lay outside. Where the fuck was his green world when he needed it most?

 

 

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About Banda Mann Singh Lamba

I'm here to create art in the form of words. Come, take a dip in my day dreams.
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