Pacing
On the kitchen table lies her colouring book and Hello Kitty markers.
Rain pelts against the windowpane. She is snug, though, cosseted against the storm.
She makes a mug of Carte Noir.
Opening the book at a random page, she studies the mandala before her. The pattern is outlined in thin, black lines, with hundreds of tiny, white spaces in between; a paper doily.
Purple/high energy
She colours the circumference, winding between the gentle bumps and curves. The colour flows smoothly; a river, uninterrupted. She relaxes, gets into the swing of things.
Long walks on the beach, shopping trips to the city, foreign holidays.
Her mind begins to empty, slowly, gradually.
Pink/ energy
Pink for the inner border. The colour flows, unimpeded, but she must not let the pink blend into the purple. That slows her down.
Baking muffins, clearing out her wardrobe, typing furiously.
Her mind empties further. Nothing matters now but choosing the next colour.
Turquoise/tiredness
Turquoise for the tiny diamonds. She hunches her shoulders, deepening her concentration to colour the intricate shapes.
Long naps, novels, dozing in front of the TV.
Her mind empties a little more.
Despite her best efforts, the marker in her hand breaks for the border, strays outside the lines. Damn!
Navy/exhaustion
To cover mistakes. Her back sore now from leaning forward, she squints under the glare of the florescent light. The pattern becomes more sombre, less appealing. She grimaces — her coffee is gone cold.
Whole days of festering in bed, days of nothingness.
She packs away her colouring book and markers. Keeping between the lines is not child’s play after all.
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