Rhythm

 



A stray, brown dog sniffs the footpath in front of a house. It sniffs around, looking for food. It is time for it to eat and is just waiting to find a stray morsel. A young boy stands at the window of the house. As he eats a biscuit, he puts his forearms outside the railings of the window. In 2 bites, the biscuit disappears. He seems to be looking out at the oblivious dog but in reality, his mind is somewhere far away, travelling faster than light. The mind is a beautiful thing, one that defies all laws of space and time and transcends all limitations man has ever faced. It's almost like using Doraemon's Any-Way Door, a ship sailing on the wind of wishes. 

The sky is an orangish-purple hue, with the sun almost gone. The hot-cold February air blows into the window, ruffling the young boy's hair. A draught of cold air gushes in and disrupts the boy's chain of thought. Suddenly, as if remembering important matters that need his attention, he closes the window and draws the blinds. 

The boy runs into his room. In the house, there is a mixed atmosphere; one of comfort coupled with the familiarity of routine. But no, there is no place for monotony. As the boy moves out of view into his room, we see the rest of his family. The father watches the 7PM news and the whole house is filled with the voice of the newsreader, like it does, every day at 7 PM. The mother is in an adjacent room, writing away to glory. She doesn't pause or look up, she goes on scribbling in her sheets of paper, like she does, every day at 7PM. 

There's a perfect harmony of activity and the sweetness of predictability. Everything is set. And that's what the young boy likes: rhythm and consistency

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