She was not sure about where she had gone wrong. She looked at the drawing closely, added few strokes here and there, darkened few areas and added little more details, but she was still not satisfied with it. Where had she gone wrong? It was irritating. She wanted to do crazy things. She wanted to throw it away with great disgust, she wanted to paint it black, she she just wanted to destroy it in some cruel way to satiate her anger. She had worked the entire week on that piece, but it was perhaps the worst she had made in her entire career. Whoever looked it, no doubt went off the boundaries in praising it, but in every praise, in each word of appraisal she heard a mocking satire, she saw faces laughing at her, telling her what a failure she was. She wanted to scream at them, she wanted to scream at everyone. Everything, she thought, was making fun of her. She realised how the yellow of the walls of the studio matched with the colour of her dress. She now, on looking closely at the walls saw how the pattern engraved, instead of adding any beauty, gave the room an ugly look. She was surprised at this, as she herself had suggested this pattern to be engraved on the walls last year. Now, it repelled her so badly. She wanted to run away from it. She wanted to run away from everything. Each known face scared her to death. She wanted to shift to some distant land where no one would recognise her, where her name will be just some ordinary name. There she would colour her skin green and lie undiscovered on fresh grass or would paint her lips blue and plant innumerable kisses on the vast sky, unseen from the worldy eyes. She would paint herself brown and would drown herself in the mud. Perhaps some day, some potter would collect her to make toys for little kids and she would get dispersed in thousand different villages. She would paint herself yellow and would dance amid the daffodils. Perhaps the bees and butterflies will also dance with her. Perhaps those little creature would detect some trace of sweetness in her which was long lost. Lost. How much she has lost. How many she has lost. Were they never meant to be hers or she has simply lost them? Or is it she who is lost? She will run away, she will run away from everything, to a world where the sun never sets, where the nightingale sings eternally; to a world where she would sing with the thrush, flow with the rivers, cry with the moon, and smile with the stars. Will they accept her as their companion? Or will they too repel her? Will they too leave her? Will she ever find a world where she would live peacefully, where she would be loved eternally. Love. How beautiful this emotion is. How pure, how serene. She has always felt like the child who tries to catch the flash of light falling on the wall. The moment he thinks he has caught hold of it, the flash moves away and he keeps on running behind it. She too is running, running since ages. Where? She knows not. But she knows that one day she will be able to get hold of that flash, one day she would reach its source itself.