By tomorrow morning (or more like later), my concoction will be finished and I can finally bid farewell to that Book of Ingredients that I'm so not going to miss. The Imperial Beast seems quite keen on testing me further so he decided to employ me as his personal secretary -- which means I'm going to take care of his appointments, memorize the phone numbers of all those VIPs so I can call them as and when he wants me to, prepare any statistical data that he might need, and calculate his daily calorie intake to make sure that he is not severely overweight. As if the Book of Ingredients wasn't enough, I'm going to have to deal with the Book of Numbers soon enough, and the Book of Numbers is at least twice as challenging and as thick as the Book of Ingredients. Yuck much.
My fellow victims-of-the-Imperial-Beast seem generally pleased with their nearly-done concoctions today, and are working hard to finish them by tomorrow morning. They're such jolly, crazy people, these fellows of mine. I'm going to miss them terribly if and when I get to escape from this island of overtime work and excessive studying, after I emerge victorious in my battle against the Imperial Beast. Yup, the Imperial Beast is nothing that I can't handle, isn't he?
I wanna keep drowning
in this bottomless sea
where schools of fish flash by me
in a brilliant spray of colors
and the sun's blinding rays
form brilliant crystals that move and sway
as if painted on the very threads
that coalesce into this expanse of seawater.
Beautiful, colorful, pleasant
just like how I imagine life to be like.
Yet my lungs never fail
to remind me to resurface
to know my place
for the sea is not where I belong
as alluring and addictive as it may be
I would immerse myself forever
if only I possess a fish's gills.
Thus it's time to take that breath
to satiate these deprived lungs
and face the bleak grey sky once again.
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