Short Story The Gahuur Ghuur

Ghuur khu ghuur... The air stream coming through his nose reverberate the entire room. She turns her body from his side, and faces the wall coated with yellow wallpaper. Tick tack tick... The minute hand has climbed above the hour hand, which is stationary at four. The second hand is trudging ahead sluggishly like the semi-spherical water drops rolling down the windowpane. Shuur shuu shuur... The violent scream of wind echoes raucously as it collides from one building to next. She was awoken by the rustling of the leaves at the trees outside; he is as still as the trunk of those trees. Dang thek dang... The left window flung opens and collides against the outside wall. The curtain dances feverishly hand in hand with the

He is in deep slumber. She is lying by his side, thinking about her dream. Tick tack tick... She raises her head, picks the glass of water, and slowly gulps the liquid. A bright light flashes; the leaves are swaying in the symphony of the storm. Shuur shuu shuur... The atmosphere is furious, but only a few raindrops knock at the pane. She looks at him - his grey hair undisturbed by the nature. That horrible dream flashes before her eyes. Garang gorong garang... Exactly nineteen seconds later the thunder shakes the room. Her gaze falls at the mirror, and she is shocked by the look of the imitation. Everything seems like part of that nightmare. She shuts her eyes tight and tries hard to go back to sleep. Ghuur khu ghuur... He doesn’t feel her hand wrapped around him. Tick tack tick... The cacophony of clock (as everything else has become completely silent) keeps her awake. The storm has stopped abruptly. The rain drops have stopped tapping. Shuur shuu shuur... The storm makes a re-entry. She moves her hand away from him. Her pupils follow the wall-clock: it isn’t even four thirty yet. Why time is moving so slowly at this moment? The past twenty five years on this ugly bed disappeared in a