One

"numbered"

since I can't stand my own reflection I stare at the walls and tally my wrongdoings
New York- Acid ghost

Ariem
Grassy sand. Silky, translucent water glows an iridescent teal under the golden sun. Bangkok, a densely venerated island in the Atlantic Ocean. So punitive that when viewed from above, it looks like a grain of sand that withstood the turbulent sea.

On land, there is nothing artificial, only hammocks made from frayed fishing nets and grass thatched houses. The only form of navigation are paths made from pebbles that cut through the immerse palm trees and their curtain like canopies. The island is rarely silent and the air is is often slightly seasoned with the sounds of life.

A snake hissing as it mimicks the thick vines suspended in the air, a golden furred monkey, calling for its family, the tunes of Bangkok are infinite. Beyond the pebble paths, where only slivers of flailing light permeate, the greenery is a lagoon. A dark blue lagoon with water so viscous it could easily pass up as molasses.

A lagoon with hands that cling to your skin helplessly and hold on to you whenever you dive in. Next to this lagoon is another grass thatched hut, made with coral mud and decorated with bright fuscia tribal markings. That hut is mine and getting back to it is my greatest desire.

Beyond the concurrent coasts that are dotted with Chinese cherry blossom trees, lies the vast, deep sea is like a trampoline. An elastic weave of fibres that demarcates the haven on land from the one below the tide. Below the water is yet another blue lagoon with waters that wrestle vehemently with the salty, less viscous liquids of the ocean. With schools of golden fish that gleam supercilliously when in shallow waters and frequent visits from orcas and cetaceans, the ocean is another world. It is an airless world that can literally take your breath away and swallow you whole.

Bangkok, a punitive island surrounded by ocean volcanoes, a mere fleck of paradise in the universe, my home.

Ariem uttered these words to herself maniacally as she shuffled through the myriad of garments that littered her floor. Her heart rammed against her chest as slipped into her bright fuscia jump suit. The lanky arm of the grandfather clock that had been clumsily placed in the corner of her room stayed stagnant. She was right. The world was indeed moving slow and she had no time to make it to her doctor. If driver made it on time, she'd be okay.

On the other side of town Ariem, Landry's driver hyperventilated behind the wheel. When he woke up two hours earlier than usual, he didn't expect to find himself drowning in a turbulent sea of vehicles. In an attempt to alleviate his irritation, he rolled down the tinted windows of his battered minicooper. As a result, his now adequately aerated bubble of stress became permeated by the cries and wails of the cars around him. He checked the time on his digital watch and his heart immediately sank. He only had fifteen minutes to make it to   Brionny  before she succumbed to her impulsive behaviours.

Each one was different and gruesome in its own way. He closed his eye's and saw her raving in all possibilities. Drenched in a thick coat of blood with deep lacerations in her skin or even worse, in a deadly altercation with an oblivious bystander. A tear ran down his cheek and his mind was clouded over by the thick clouds of smoke, expelled by the cars before him submerging him in the deep murky waters of traffic.

Meanwhile, Ariem sat crossed in the centre of her bohemian style studio apartment. She breathed heavily, allowing herself to sink into the the deep purple cushion underneath her body. She shuddered and shivered but diligently fought her impulses. Despite her genuine belief that she was greater than anyone and anything, her firm grip on reality kept her anchored.