Hot

She wakes up at 7 am to the strains of Beethoven. Her eyes still closed, and arms stretched in a princess-like fashion, she expects to feel the first rays infusing her person with a delicate glow. An imaginary camera in the top-left corner of her room inspires the over dramatisation. The rays do not come. She moves on to the next ‘scene’, albeit slightly disturbed by the deviance. Gliding through her perfectly designed ‘set’ of a bedroom, she opens the window and waits for the cool breeze to sift through her hair. A blast of hot construction air hits her instead. She stares at the freshly cemented bricks, and wails. Her story is over. Life begins.