Akin to a superpower

It is not an easy thing to start -- to start something, or anything, like a project or a new workout routine.

An author's mind can be bursting with creative ideas waiting to be transformed into words only for the very page to remain blank.

The problem, in case of abundance, is deciding which idea to go with first, or if one should go with everything that fits, or if one should reconsider and search more an unknown idea that could be more fitting.

Making a decision can be exhausting, and people could do with having to make less of them. At the same time, it is also exciting! Stimulating! Addicting, even!

Contradictions -- the human experience is full of them.

And there even exist illusory ones, as with the statement regarding decisions. And some still elicit a sense of wrongfulness even when one thing doesn't entirely negate the other.

Nothing states that people must be miserable when face with what they believe to be certain demise.

Other people in the world are suffering doesn't necessitate that another people must suffer in spirit.

And yet, a sense of guilt arises when one is happy when others aren't. That is for people who have develop a moral code that compels them in this manner of thinking, to think that there is something wrong with others living in bliss while there is suffering in the world.

Bless the heroes who have made their sacrifices, knowing the consequences of their actions, to make the world a better place.

But, it would be nice to accept the fact that, while anyone is capable of heroic acts, not everyone can be heroes.

Let people not go through the ritual of crying for the unfortunate to feel like a good person.

What if the illusory contradiction is contained within an individual's experience?

Can a person be depressed about one thing, and yet satisfied with another? Is the person both be upset and content? Or is there a balance of two reactions where one can shadow the other, so that one can only be happy or unhappy?

A woman watches the officer who patted her down from the back of the bus, admiring the image of a rugged woman trained in the art of violence, an ideal picture she had concocted in her mind disregarding the facts of the officer's life, like questions of whether or not the officer had even been in combat. This woman is Noma, a horror novelist who makes money doing porn.

Noma -- she would admit -- is going mad with power. She had received a curious revelation from a friend which had turned, for her, an annoying affliction into something akin to a superpower.

Noma did not lament it, but she never had a particularly vivid imagination despite being a writer. What she had was a particular way with words, chronic pain, a good number of friends -- and former friends -- who had varying degrees of traumatic life experiences, and the heart to be enough of a bitch to tell, albeit through creative interpretations.

Now, she can see exactly how filthy her brain is.

Although, she wonders if the goddess in the sky blessed with bountiful mountains exuding a familiar sensual aura would actually impress anyone whose opinion she cares about. It is a pleasant thing to look at, but it feels a bit commonplace.

The officer in a slutty uniform stepped over to Noma, looked down on her, scolded her for sexual harassment -- for leering with a deviant expression.

Noma noticed that the officer, the real one, had noticed her staring. She turned to her phone to break eye contact.

The bespectacled officer who had lost her bottoms somewhere, and a good bit of her top, looked over to silently judge the things that show up on screen. This one probably doesn't signal anything that is happening in reality, and is only here to satisfy a certain predilection of Noma.

"It's your stop"

Noma jolted out of her idle scrolling. The sexy officer pointed her chin at Noma then to the door.

Noma disembarks.

[I'm at the stop]

[I'm at the gate]

[Wrong gate]

[Right gate]

Noma did not wait long until a man in tankies and shorts came out of the house to open the gate for her.

"You shaved..."

"Eh, you look cute too"

Noma extended her arms for a hug.

The man, Rose, hugs her.

Noma very much enjoyed the firmness of his lean arms against her soft body. She squeezed him harder than he did her, fighting a rude impulse to slide her hands lower. And she gave him a good sniff.

Noma pushed Rose away, not because the smell offended her. It's a matter of deciding when to break a hug, considering their relationship. It's not something she actively thinks about, but any longer and she would be pushing her luck, and she wanted to spare some for later.

"You showered..."

"Yes yes, it's being polite"

Noma sometimes feel like she's deluding herself thinking that Rose likes her, in a special way, particularly in times when he acts cold towards her, considering that he has such good rapport with his other work partner, MaidinPurgatory. And sometimes, Noma feels that Rose does care about her and her opinions. Perhaps this is not one of those times, but Noma appreciates the very normal gesture.

"Kiss?"

"Come in, I'll get your stuff"

"Wait, I have to call Ma and Pa. Say hi?"

"You can do that in your room"

Noma enters the house. She can hear foreign words coming out of a low quality speaker.

There's a ghost sitting weightlessly on the couch, a chimaeric girl bearing features of some kind of dog. On the table sits a girl who could be a real person, wearing the same kind of uniform she wore back in highschool.

The sight unlocks a new fantasy for Noma.

Noma knew Rose went to the same school and at the same time, but they never knew each other then. There is a notion in her head that he had been publicly commended for an essay or two he wrote, but she could have made up that memory at the height of her stupid crush on him, before she actually got to know him.

If only they had known each other then...

Unfortunately, it couldn't have happened. Noma knows it couldn't have been as sweet as she wanted either. Part the reason she likes Rose is that he lets even people like her deep into his mind, which makes the act of diving in this thoughts a pleasant thing, so she knows he wouldn't have a place for her then.

But indulging in one's fantasies shouldn't hurt, right?

"Hey Queen, are you seeing anything right now?"

Rose called out to Noma, having noticed that she's stopped to look at places in the room that shouldn't be of interest.

"Yes"

"What's the plan then? You just gonna look, or...?"

"No, let's go. Do have any pets?"

"No pets"

The two entered the room.

Across is the window covered by a thick set of curtains, but the hall lets in enough light to see what is what.

A low bed stands stoutly by the window, without the sheets and covers and all. A ghost, a white lady, hangs on the ceiling by an invisible thread, posed in what one can see in a pole act.

A dresser and a desk stand across the bed, on the nearside wall, creating a bit of a cramped aisle. A long mirror is mounted over the dresser, the image of the sky goddess watches through the open window. There is no chair to go with the empty desk.

Rose places Noma's things under the desk.

"I'm going to let the light in, okay?"

So he did.

Noma didn't imagine it, or she had imagined it in advance -- the sky goddess still watches through the window.

Is it because Noma witnessed the figure directly, see the goddess's mystical eyes, that she froze on instinct?

Wet sounds invaded Noma's ears. She knows it very well.

Noma feels the surface of her brain being touched all over. She slips into a world of darkness. How long has she been falling?

Noma can't hear herself but she must have been moaning to the sensual growl sweeping through her mind.

Noma can't feel it but she must have clenched all the muscles in her body. It would very much hurt to return to reality in this state, but she can't imagine having a choice in the matter.

Noma felt control returning to her body.

She can taste something weird in her mouth, reminding her of the time she woke up from taking painkillers to help her through a particularly bad night when she caught that one flu.

She can feel a familiar pain running down her hips, and to her worse knee. She can feel the hard floor under her, the firm something supporting her head, and the cold-ish something locked with her fingers. She feels wet all over her body, especially on the cold spot around her crotch.

She can see the ceiling, the white lady looking at her with what can be interpreted as curiosity, and a somewhat familiar face of a friend.

She can hear him speaking:

"How do you feel, Queen? Do I need to call medics over?"

Noma comes into full alertness. She knows enough of what situation she found herself in.

"I'm fine, Rose. Can you step out for a bit and... don't listen, you know?"

"Okay. I'll check in five if you don't come out by then. Also, you still have to call you parents"

"I remember, thanks"

Rose steps out of the room.

Noma closes the door as quickly as she can without slamming it.

Noma rummaged through her stuff to get a good clump of fabric to bury her face in.

It is not something she takes pride in, but she had thought herself to be quite the shameless person, even among artists, and even among people who do voice porn. Rationally, Noma will easily live through this experience.

On the other hand...

Noma must scream.