"S.W." 6

"You're told to write a composition in order to make your mark a bit less shameful. However, a group of Russian scientists found that if you don't, the world is going to implode. You know they are serious because they're Russian. The future is in your hands!"

Somebody once asked me "hey, how are you feeling?"

That question, with all its simplicity and the fairest of intentions, submerged my consciousness into a state of confusion and reflection, in which the word "feel" constantly gained and lost an enormous quantity of obscure meanings, where everything I could think of about my current state flowed inside my head like a raging current in the middle of the ocean willing to merge with the air and reach the wind above.

Words came and went from my thought like nervous rabbits exploring an infinity of new holes to stay in, always coming back in the form of a possible response, without success. I didn't want to say anything too shallow, but I didn't want to refer to Descartes' concept of divinity either.

So I looked at them, opened my mouth, and, with a big smile, I said:

"I am the Queen of the Universe. The waves part, they engulf me and the water is warm."

I think I might have scared them a bit.