A glace over the shoulder confirms its just a wall staring back at her. But it still feels like a pair of eyes are piercing her back. She feigns a nonchalant shrugs an trudges on. Not an iota of doubt on what her eyes showed her but the nerves still tingled.
Maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe a random speck of imagination that stuck on.
Maybe there was really someone in there. Or maybe it is all living, everything that forms the microcosm of her universe. That is quite comforting. The furniture talking to the floor as soon as she has her back turned to them. Maybe thats why she just lies, closes her eyes and pretends to sleep, hoping to overhear the intriguing conversations between those that don't matter. A sheer waste of time, but curious nonetheless.
Subconscious is so much lest cryptic than the conscious .
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