As she sat, chin in her right hand, she glanced at the nearby objects and tried to take inspiration from them, maybe even a little hope. Her eyes flicked from the photos with their gold and silver rimmed frames, an unfinished essay, the smooth fake wood effect surface of the desk. Nothing worked. On top of the paper her phone vibrated and flashed irritatingly with news that she had “1 new message.” She could guess who it was off and that it most probably contained mundane news from a friend who thought she cared. She pushed it aside out of view to ignore it.
She glanced up at the clock. It was 23:27. Tired, she turned off the light and lay down. As she stared into the nothingness that was her bedroom colours danced the walls and ceiling, patterns and shapes, animals and elements. And they came from nowhere but her thoughts; they were dancing to an unknown tune of memory and fantasy.