Siesta

The heat was building up. The midday sun was slowly moving towards the west. The big speakers in my room were blaring out random music from a long playlist. My veins were throbbing to its tunes, as I lay on the hard bed, looking at the ceiling. There was just the music and the heat. The ceiling fan whirred on, pumping the hot air down on me.

It had been a hectic morning, and I was tired. I closed my eyes to try and sneak a siesta in. The tunes were slowly morphing into something different. These aural waves began creating associated images in my mind. Each song evoked different memories in my mind, mostly shadows from the past. Some happy, some sad. Mostly sad. Sad that the past is beyond my reach now. Whatever that I did now, would be etched in history forever. Probably. Who knows, maybe some time traveler from the future will erase my existence from the past.

Some long forgotten moments popped up in the mind’s screen as the playlist progressed through its shuffled up route. Some images had lost their edges. They were blurry. The colours merged into each other as I tried to concentrate on them. It was as if they wanted to tease me, with what they held in their content. The noises were also blurring. They danced around me in their weird concentric envelopes. Each one was mocking the one within. The vibrations made my horizon a filmy haze.

Five hours later, the heavy beat of an old Michael Jackson song thawed my hibernation. The familiar whir of the ceiling fan was strangely reassuring. The budgerigars next door were in the middle of their evening chat session. I heard children screaming in glee. Probably over some kind of game that they play. Or maybe one of them had got a present, or something else had happened. I looked at the rotating fan above my head, and I blinked my eyes in quick succession. Owing to the phenomenon of persistence of vision, I could make out the three leaves of the fan, suspended in motion. It reminded me of a radioactivity warning sign.