Serena stared out of the window of her spacious bedroom, watching the currents of the beach ripple in and out. The moon was still out in all its glowing beauty, the sky shaded a deep red with hints of ultramarine blue. She closed the book on her lap. A lack of concentration. The Winter of our Discontent - a John Steinbeck classic about characters who were neither good nor bad. Predominantly grey, Serena had decided.
Thoughts whizzed in and out of her mind as she stood up from the stool purposefully placed by her window. It was 5AM and the world was still asleep. She wondered how many other kindred souls were also up at this time: the waking hour of passion. The magnetic buzz of thoughts and ideas that zoomed through her mind were often uncontrollable. Not that she minded insomnia... it had its perks.
At 23 she still lived at home: painting visions of grey buildings, writing stories with no happy endings, drawing personifications of envy, cooking in ripped denim jeans and often a white turtle neck. She posed no interest in the world that turned art into deceit for money. It made her furious, frustrated even. She wanted more from the world...but didn't know how to get it.
Letting out a deep sigh, she cozied up into a long camel coat and tiptoed downstairs to pour herself a steamy hot mug of peppermint tea. The frosty air of the beginning of Winter could not be ignored. The sun replaced the moon and yet, another day was about to begin in a world of crafty manipulation.
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