I sit here on this couch watching an unending sci-fi series. It holds me back from my thoughts. I can do this the entire day if I don’t have a deadline. I watch with less scrutiny a pact of realism and fiction orchestrated into a motion picture. The fascination of this kind of art liberates my mind. My attention is attached to every scene covered in suspense. At times, I applaud when it captivates my intelligence. When I get sick, my interest in the screen fades, constrained to recovery, and amusing visions agitate me. I hate sickness! It’s a prison cell. I can hardly guess my next emotion or feeling. It drains your excitement and blurs your love for life.

For a minute, I had lost my attention thinking about sickness. Fortunately, I am neither weak nor diseased: I fetch an absent mind ravelled in glum. A monstrous six-foot-tall green creature that has escaped solitary confinement wrestles with a wounded scientist in a laboratory. He courageously shields himself with a metal as he runs to the exit. 

My eyes gaze at the intense thrill as I lain towards my glass of juice on a wooden sculpted table. The alien vehemently throws its green limbs to capture the rattled man that covers his defenceless body from the attack. It primitively scratches the metal shield with black adamantine nails: an adrenaline rush as I watch this ordeal. 

©joeln