Novem

"Oh my eyes, why make confetti of my pride?"

She swayed by. He wouldn't close his mouth. What was the need for doing that. He kept his gaze on her as she swayed by.

To him, it seemed as though he was calling her by with his eyes. Like the closer or faster he wanted her to come by, same did she. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating.

He wasn't sure if twas the figment of his inky imagination. Of course he had seen Poseidon introduced him to the Nymph and the Nymph would house him?

That was more than heavenly. A part of him had begun to consider his fantasy a best part of the word to live in.

If he lived in his fantasy, he wouldn't have to worry over anything again. Of course he would have his own mistress.

Or should he say that he already had one? He couldn't really be sure. He hoped that he wasn't only making worn wishes.

He hoped that his thoughts were channeled. He hoped that all he was erecting on the boulevard of his consciousness would be exactly what he wanted them to be.

He wished that time would test the stance quickly and dictate to him what pored position he should take.

He watched Poseidon change his route and he made for the door of the room. He watched him past the Nymph.

He lost track of the suiting names to call her. Poseidon probably created them. He had written in his poems sometimes back on earth that Poseidon created Nymphs from the waves of the sea.

A byproduct of imagination were they. That was why they were unprecedentedly beautiful. What other attributes to ascribe to them was not necessary.

Poseidon probably was dating some of the Nymphs, he couldn't be sure. But he remembered that he had written in the poem that Poseidon was a Pious personae.

He wouldn't date neither would he get married to any lady. That was how pious he could. If the Poseidon walking out of that room was he, then he was not really in good hands.

But it didn't matter whether or not he was in good hands, all that mattered was the fact that there was a Nymph moving closer to him.

He watched him get to the door. Poseidon had a last glimpse of him and disappeared. Why didn't he use the door? Well that would be business of another day.

He tasked his heart. A new business was demanding. Of course he wouldn't want to go bankrupt.

He never would and never had. The Nymph drew nearer to his bed.

"My Lord, rise."

My Lord? He didn't actually believe that he was sane. He knew that he was Hallucinating.

Of all names in rhe world, why would the Nymph address him with the, My Lord?

What was that supposed to mean. In the earthly context of course, it was used for several reasons. For the husband of a woman.

For the king of a land. By a queen to her king and many more. But he couldn't really be sure what it meant in the world of fantasy.

What it meant wasn't the big deal. The big game was what would succeed it. He sat up. He didn't even know whether or not he had sit up in the first place.

But he sat up. And he was afraid. The shoes of the bed seemed quite close to the earth and his legs quite close to the floor.

But whenever he looked down, it seemed to him as though he was on mount Everest. Like he was on the summit.

Like he was going to fall into some gloom and shatter his neck. He couldn't really be sure. But he knew that that could be some test to foster some growth in the under world.

He was waiting for the Nymph to put him to the test. He was waiting for her to train his wits and sharpen his grit, but it seemed as though he would wait forever.

He wasn't getting somethings straightly. Why was it that, whenever someone moves close to a place which is very close, the closer the person moves, the farther it seemed.

Of course he was sure that that was some of the hideous and apt alakazam trained in that part of the world.

And that was why the Nymph had not gotten to him yet. That was what kept Poseidon back also.

But he remembered that Poseidon was caught up in thoughts, that was why he was suspended in movement.

Probably the Nymph was thinking also. Probably her thoughts had made confetti of her. But what was she thinking about.

That was not his to know. Of course he knew that. Well, he dumped his thoughts as he looked around.

He knew that she wouldn't be caught up in the thoughts forever.

He tried to make meaning of everything around him. He started off by wanting to compare, but of course he knew that that was not a good option.

For as hard as he tried to compare one thing to the other, he simply lost track of his memory. Probably that was some hideous acts he couldn't fathom.

But he would try as much as possible. He ignored some of the thoughts that snapped at him. He was becoming bold.

Then he began to sort his thoughts as he await the arrival of the Nymph. He looked at the ceiling of the room.

Mostly back on earth, their ceilings were usually tents. Some would use tatched ceilings. Some had burnt bricks.

While some smother caves and made their abodes of them. But in the world of fantasy, what he saw was beyond his imagination.

He remembered that he had written about some magnificent buildings and comely rooms but had thought that it would be of such sort.

It was making it hard to allot names to them. He hadn't seen them ever. But the room was more than beautiful.

And there was no water in the room, as they hadn't been in the hall.

That was all he could say. He was then snatched outta his thoughts.

The Nymph was already by him. She had gotten to the bed.

She probably had snapped outta her thoughts. She sat next to him as she disrobed herself.

Of course he would run mad.

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