an ode...

She lay still. Eyes half closed, a mouth parted, probably gasping for air. Everyone
came and hovered around her. The soft murmurs seemed to upset her. The
eyelids that were half parted now seemed to be glowering at those around her.

She seemed to remember, the Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock. 'In the room,
women come and go, talking of Michelangelo'. The first two lines also seemed
to fit in well,and she recited them silently in her mind.'The evening is spread out
against the sky, like a patient etherized upon a table...' Although the evening was
far from what Eliot would've proposed, she did look like a patient etherized upon
a table.

People walked around, making sure they didn't touch her feet or hurt her in
anyway. Thank god for so much sensibility. Some kept staring at her, hoping
she'd open those half-closed eyelids and stop playing peek-a-boo! But nothing
happened. The hands and feet were tied together and she couldn't do anything.
The head was covered and so was her soul, probably in emotions that were kept
hidden from her in years. Tears, smiles, memories, all lashed upon her like a
tsunami of unforseen gestures.

She lay there, still. Not a muscle twitched nor a hair moved. She was content, in
seeing everything hover around her. The world truly now moved for her, and she
was the center of the universe.