Midnight- Camera flashes. Music blares from the speakers. Conversation turns into babble.
The vodka and tonic hits. The speed thrills. The lights blur.
Empty. That’s how she feels.
Dawn- birds chirp. Head hurts. Stomach growls.
Sleep comes. The mind tickles. Hands tremor.
Darkness. She draws the curtain.
Afternoon- Heat prickles. Head pounds. Memory of last night is a big question mark.
Facebook tells her what she has been doing. It’s 3 pm. It’s late.
Rise and shine. What is the use in waking?
7 pm- Her twin screams. She sees Virginia Woolf on the table. Head throbs.
Bell rings. The pizza is here. The book beckons.
Sanity. Who does she discuss The Lighthouse with?
10 pm- Same fakeness. Same mindlessness. The vodka and tonic again.
Same music. Same lights. Same rootlessness.
Bollywood. Let’s be baby dolls together.
3 am- Head pounds. Speed is blah. Lights play checkers in her head.
Mr. Ramsay’s mind is his enemy. Woolf haunts her. The Lighthouse calls.
Laughter. It’s all a show isn’t it?
9 am- No sleep. The paper smells good. Words are a visual delight.
The coffee is strong. The light pours in. The bedsheets are spotless white.
Breakfast. Seems like a good idea.
1 pm- Mrs. Ramsay loves her husband. She smiles. Time passes.
War starts. Smile fades. War ends. Time passes.
Order. It feels nice when the house is back in order.
5 pm- The marmalade tastes good. Lily finishes her painting. James is content.
Smile returns. The incense smells good. Her twin is happy.
Dinner. It’s time to cook some broccoli and pasta.
Life is good.