The lull before the storm

The silence had been piercing the ear drums. It had become unbearable. The persisting need to fill up the gap. Gaps which were being plugged but created just as quickly, like quicksand. The constant effort leading to fatigue. It is not the fatigue to be worried about. But the urge. The usurping need which is to be worried about. The intermittent journey has taken way too long, thus making the gaps obvious and the agony increasing by the moment. There had to be an escape route. There had to be a path leading him to safety. To his humble abode. The very thought of the linen curtains hung on the windows brought comfort to his mind. The image of the winding passageway leading upto the garden at the front of the house warmed his otherwise frigid heart. He had been fooled before. Of an escape path. Of alternate ones. But he knew there is only one. The tortuous path had made him wiser. So he thought. He had to endure. He had to continue plugging the gaps.

Endure he must, Plug he must. For without them the task of reaching his abode, his destination, would be all the more ominous. The path all the more thistly.