The drops accumulate and splash onto my skull. They are wet and cold. They are welcome.Today I walk.But today there are no thoughts. Oh, there are tho...ghts. A multitude of them. One more horrid than the other. But they are not allowed into the shelter of my brain. They must stay outside. Let them huddle under that carport over there. Or at the bus stop. Get lost, you damn thoughts and nightmares.Leave me to the dark little kingdom of my misery.My name doesn't matter. Call me George. Call her. She revered her father like a god. Her father was well-built, the height of 5 ft 11 in with strong legs that she noticed when he used to come out of the bathroom in a towel.Her family lived in a nice house with two floors. Saumya’s family was open-minded but discussion on intimate topics was limited. It was thought to come by self-learning. Her mother was a lovable figure in the house. Her body sculpted for arousing passion but she covered herself fully never revealing, not even in front of her. More

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