The Novelist


For days, she dreaded to look at her reflection in the mirror. Twenty-four by seven, seven days a week. These words kept on reverberating in her head. Then it would be followed by a certain memory that kept bugging her every time she would attempt to examine her life these past few months. ‘Yours is a face that could launch a thousand ships.’ She heard it from the very man she hold dear. He’s long gone. But their memories are as vivid as her wild imagination. She is a novelist by heart.

Born with a silver spoon, she always thought that she is the master of her own universe. That she can just rearrange the stars to her favor and all circumstances will bow and kneel before her. Someone who wouldn’t accept no for an answer. She is, indeed, full of herself.

That was the last entry. She’s been working on her fifth novel for nth weeks now. Turning the moon into the sun, the sun into the moon and yet she’s still unable to finish the introduction. So, everything is wrong with her now? She thought, she can always cheat time. She’s pathetic. Coffee is now coursing through her veins. Sleep deprivation has taken its toll on her once radiant face.

She fought tooth and nail to have that confidence to look at herself in the mirror.
At an instant, she whispered softly … ‘time to pamper me‘.

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