The catastrophe and the cure

The situation was like playing a baseball game and being in the hole with two outs. Not sure whether to  keep your helmet and batting gloves on preparing to go on deck or grab your glove ready to hit the field. You had to pick one and hope that your decision was right. Your teammate either got out or got on and either way you weren't fully prepared. It all depended on one person. 

It was just before noon, the trees through the window were swaying violently and time was passing ever so slowly. She was in an awkward yet comfortable position on her bed with her knees propping up her Mac and her back sloppily leaning against two pillows covered in dark cases. She sat like this often. Her room was a deep grey blue and there was only one small light present. A few guitars were scattered, there were some book shelves, the fish Pedro was being spastic as usual, a muted television set across from her, some foreign artist was sounding from one of her many playlists, and a pile of hoodies and shorts lie lethargically on the floor. It was a frequent scene but never monotonous. The day was just as she preferred- there was an overcast, it was cool, windy, and quiet. The fact that the day was calm was overwhelming in a sense, for the last few years things had been more than hectic and a calm day with no bothers was never something she complained about or expected. 

She sat there writing, just wondering about how she got where she was. Where the page was turned, when the clocks had made their runs, who said to flip the switch, and why some filters were flying and others were burning. Maybe she was imagining it all, maybe it was just the course of life someone else had picked out for her. Getting away however, was on the top of her to do list. She dreamed of Amsterdam or somewhere with a city that never slept, just something different. Along her forced wager she forgot who she was and what she stood for but she was okay with that for now. They say to never be content with anything in life but she was content, at least in this moment. She was a quiet being with a loud soul, a storm cloud and a bass drum. Never announcing her presence but you knew she was there. She had come to the point where she cared too much and now claimed indifference, she enjoyed the simple things like talking to people and finding out their stories or letting the whispers of the leaves caress her face. A simple life with experiences was all she asked for, who knew it would be difficult. 

How did she get here? To this point where absolutely nothing mattered. Was it everything, just parts, or one event? How would she get out? There had to be a way. She had never been like the rest, never gave thought to what others thought about her, never gave in to being like everyone else, never sought the in-crowd, she just slid through the cracks and kept her life to herself. They say the ones who are different are the ones who make it, but really I just think those are the ones who see truth. Her life hadn't even started and yet she felt like she had lived a few lives. 

There was a knock on the door, a soft but impatient knock. Irritated because it was most likely a random trying to sell her some unwanted magazine of some sort, she got up wearing an oversized grey hoodie and her favorite pair of shorts. The person at the door was anything but a random. She stared through the blinds and released a sigh that was long overdue. That god-awful lump in her throat only got bigger as she pressed her forehead against the door before opening it. 

The catastrophe and the cure stood before her.