The Odds aren't in my Favor

2:30 PM―It’s a lonesome Sunday afternoon here in my usual dusty cage. Outside are raging dark heavy clouds, low, threatening. And the next thing I knew, the rain’s drumming the roof, dashing the leaves, deafening my ears, drowning this forlorn soul. The rain always seems to fall when or where it liked to, always comes unannounced, ready or not, inevitably. I badly need the sun for a very important matter and yet here’s nature strictly obeying this certain manoeuvring imposed by the most intricate laws of the ecosystem.

Supposedly, I had three huge plans for the weekend―two of which I’d rather not talk about, and a third one which I’ve been dying to do since Friday―watch The Hunger Games. This thing has been causing this anachronistic devotion creep up of me. I badly need to see the film soon, as far as my happiness is concerned. I had a lot of attempts done, yet the universe seems to conspire with some unknown entities not to let this thing happen. So here I am on this blank slate where all I could do is dream of things to virtually ensue. I’m doomed right now and all I want is to have a stick lit, then set fire blow a few clouds of smoke into the rain.

The odds are quite against me. I believe.