cats-in-stories

[cats-in-stories]

Reading

She stared at the black and white portrait hanging in front of her, a display of a perfect family. Once an undeniable future, now seemed like an unfulfillable dream. They jostled each other around, laughing, joking, smiling — a cruel reminder of the life she had lost.

Her empty eyes continued to wonder around the room. The once vibrant and colourful room, filled with playful ornaments, are now reduced to different shades of grey.

She stared at the flower vase, hoping to see the tapestry of colours, hoping to see it like how Sophie had described it, only to find yet another object painted on with that similar shade of grey.

Sophie called out to her in a clear and distinct voice, wanting to steal her attention from the mocking flower vase, but Rachel was already deep in the muddied water— too tired, too lost to even acknowledge the slurry of words that swim in her mind as the flower vase continued laughing at her.

“How did you feel after our last session?” Sophie asked, scribbling something on her notepad, as if anything Rachel said is of any importance to her.

“Better,” A soulless voice replied.

Sophie nodded, continue scribbling down something. It must be something really important, Rachel thought, see how fast her pen has moved across her notepad.

Rachel continued looking down, deciding to shift her focus onto the transparent coffee table the vase sat on. At least the coffee table lacks colour, she thought to herself, still sitting in her own puddle of muddled thoughts.

“Good to know that you are feeling better than last week. Before we start……”

Rachel shut her ears for a moment, already knowing what Sophie will be saying next.

Another retelling, another pain.

They said it will help her. The pain will go soon.

But how will it help when she is still falling through the hole, unable to climb back up, unable to get back the life she once had?

She looked up, her eyes meeting another filled with light grey.

She locked her hands together and described her week in the same lifeless voice. It is useless, she told herself. But they say it will work, she reminded herself.

————————————————————

“Tick tock”, the clock said again as she stared at it, hoping it will give her an answer she needs.

But it didn’t, so she nodded, acknowledging the clock’s efforts.

——

“What did you like to do?” Sophie had asked, never emphasising on the word ‘did’, but Rachel still took note.

“Reading”

“I see.” Sophie had scribbled some more. “Why don’t you try to read some books this week. Perhaps those you read before.”

——

It will be useless anyways, Rachel told the clock.

“Tick tock”, it responded.

Rachel took that as a yes.

——

Rachel sat on her couch, sipping on the scalding hot tea she has brewed for herself. An activity that was once fulfilling, now a mindless habit as she slipped in and out of the puddle.

Perhaps she would give it a go.

The wind rustled, giving its encouragement, blowing away the hot steam that has risen from her tea.

——

She remembered when she was a child.

Her innocence was shinning brightly, casting shadows on those around her.

Reading made it shine brighter, she recalled, imaginations of dragons and witched still exist in the puddle, but buried deeper, as if it is trapped under the sinking feeling of a lost childhood.

She had once dreamed of a knight who will save her, from the imaginary red dragon, sweeping her away to a place of safety, of comfort.

She mother would smile fondly, letting her imaginations run rampant.

It no longer did though, her innocence now reduced to nothing.

——

Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone

The title read as she caressed the spine of the book.

The pages didn’t mock her, not like the flower vase.

She knew that the pages will always be in black and white, just like how she saw it now.

——————————————————————————————

She sat on the same couch as the previous week, the flower vase no longer mocking her as much.

She told Sophie she started to see colours.

Sophie smiled and scribbled in her notepad. She changed her notepad, Rachel noted. It looked more pink than grey the last time she saw it.

Maybe it is just her.

——

Rachel held her mug, sipping on the slightly cooled tea. It still burns as much as last week, but the pain in her heart lessened a little.

It will work. The washing machine replied, whirling as it did its job.

She decided to read another book.

——

Her innocence may be lost, but her capabilities to dream still remained, the words reminded her.

So she read.

She let herself drift in the river’s current, no longer stagnant in the puddle of water.

Imagine, the fishes whispered.

Explore, the fisherman shouted, still in the middle in the ocean.

————————————————————————————————

The flower vase had more colour this time.

Rachel didn’t tell Sophie that this time. Sophie looked like she knew.

Rachel looked up from the coffee table and saw the family portrait.

The people in the picture looked happier. But the picture did not change in the slightest, Rachel told herself.

Perhaps it is just her.

The mother in the picture seems to agree, but the mother did not say anything.

But it worked out in the end, didn’t it? The father said, still holding his son in an embrace.

Rachel just smiled.