It is raining in the city of Pompei

There are many nights inside a rainy day. I woke up into one of them with the remains of an unfinished dream pooled in the grooves of my rugged consciousness. Sounds rained first and the translucent liquid flowing along with it was forgotten at once. All the other senses were silenced by this ruthless attack and within no time all the lesser sounds other that the sounds of rain were callously swallowed. Everything around was getting mutated. I felt like lying alone in a vertical chamber dug in the middle of a roaring stadium and was slowly been pulled up just to get slaughtered by bloodthirsty gladiators. I cupped and opened my ears continuously and could hear the flapping sounds of two enormous wings. I tried to open my eyes and ‘see’ things. But my eyes couldn’t remember how it was seeing things before. The calendar on the wall with red-circled working days, red holidays and black normal days, the ringed transparent well made out of the bottom of a plastic bottle which I used as a pencil stand , my rusty table fan with dark green leaves and the silver snout always ready to get replaced as the propellor of any fighter craft, the pink waste basket surrounded by crumbled peices of paper in the right corner of the room reminding me of lost trajectories and failed ‘baskets’...Everything eyes could see was instantaneously killed by the brutal invasion of this avalanche of sounds and my room remained there like the city of Pompei .I opened the windows and saw hundreds of enormous silver legged stilt walkers running across the garden towards me.....