Friday, March 10, 2006 1:16 AM
Shouting at the top of her voice in the solitary cave, she only hears her echo reverberating. Nothing gets out of the cave and so nothing is heard from outsiders. Rain is falling on her as if it’s free of charge but she has no brolly to shelter her from drench. Shelter comes and go slightly slower than the speed of light. Before she can grasp a firm grip on the brolly, she has to give up to someone else whom she believes deserves more than her. Always living in the shadow of just anybody, there's no such thing as self which is always last in queue while those in front often fail to feel her presence, not even the soul. When the child in her is in possession, tenderness is seldom the greeting in return. Forming a layer of protection is what she probably needs and it probably indicates that she’s indulging deeper into a coma. Perhaps she had not done evough good deeds in her past life to deserve a sturdier and more durable brolly. The coma continues