Engulfed

She was leaning on the kitchen counter, gently rapping her fingers on the marble surface. The gradual sounds were muted, but heard nonetheless. She sighed and glanced towards the right where the stove was. She swiftly calculated the readiness of the food. Deciding that it wasn't quite done yet, she returned her gaze casually towards the window in front of her.

"It won't work." She repeated this in her mind, it won't work. It was nighttime and the kitchen window brought in a nice, summer breeze. She loved cooking in the dark. Quite risky, she knew. But there was just something about cooking in the dark that comforted her, or agitated her. Whatever feeling that was, she reveled in it. The only source of light, the stove's fire, dwindled a little. In fact, everything dwindled a little for that fraction of a second. Almost unnoticeable, but she noticed it nonetheless. Her heart leaped, but immediately returned to its steady pace.

The thing about the dark is that, it is consuming. Sight is impaired (not necessarily blinded)

and everything else heightens. Tangible things suddenly seemed such a nuisance. She concluded: abstraction was a nice escape. She was engulfed. The rhythmic sizzle of oil and the heavenly smell of bacon calmed her a little. It didn't actually distract her from her thoughts though. They were all there, hiding in some blackened corner waiting to pounce at some possible moment. Maybe even all unknowingly pouncing already. Everything was so exciting.

She laughed, her gentle laugh - the sort of laugh you laugh for yourself once you've realized how silly everything is. How silly you are being. How reckless of her, she thought, for putting herself in such a vulnerable situation. How tragic. How foolish. And maybe to some extent: how pathetic. But she welcomed the frenzy of feelings that usually came. She thought: If not, how dull everything would be. How dull.

Maybe it was sad, the things she had to do to get to feel something. At some point, it probably seemed artificial -- phony. Phony feelings. But it couldn't be helped, she thought. She needed this. If not, how dull everything would be. She was afraid of dullness. Mostly, she hated feeling indifferent.

Suddenly, she was pulled out of her thoughts. An irritating buzz was approaching; it was invisible. Blindly, she swatted at something. Feeling something wet on her palm, she smiled contentedly at herself. Fucking mosquitoes. Suddenly remembering her bacon, she grabbed a bowl -- she always eats in a bowl -- put in the bacon and got some rice. She switched on the light, and everything was white. Forgetting her thoughts, she sat on the dining table and continued on with dinner.

Everything was forgotten.