PASTICHE I

The day started just like any other. So there I was, tied to the bed looking at the window. As the sun shimmers through the dusty glass, shadowing the old cloak cabinet. I stood up slowly to prevent the creaking sound from the old wooden bed. I stood above the window, observing the mellifluous sound and ripple waves the ocean is making. It was a normal morning on the summer, but strangely there was an unfamiliar vehicle beyond the light house. The vehicle was covered in perpetual darkness as the waves began to roar. And the clouds began to gray as the wind became extricable.