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  • _create_23 3w

    Picture your home without a door or a lock, your curtains welcoming any stranger at your door, your "doorstep" getting licked by any animal in the locality and eyes barely showing interest to look inside unlike people making envious comments outside one's house with heavy expensive security but still feeling protected and at ease because of an odd yet beautiful faith carried on with generations.
    This almost unbelievable imagination is the reality of a few homes and before you imagine a foreign land with unbelievablely less number of crimes and thefts, let me tell you that this is the reality of a village called Shani Shingnapur in Maharashtra, India which is famous for a Shani temple I visited years ago and it is astonishing to learn that there are barely any cases to contact the police.,

    There are some people you just wish to talk to with no expectations in your heart, no personal "supreme court" judgements in your head, no ulterior motives under your skin and sometimes no intentions of developing any feeling for a long run. You just do it because you like it and not everything you like has to have a meaning behind it. Does it?
    But because we are taught about boundries and outlines from the very beginning, either on maps in our classrooms or our relationships by our parents so, we tend to find them everywhere but we often forget walls are meant to crack, boundries are intended to be crossed and promises of forever are fated to be broken. So one day, a thief climbs that wall and before you know, your heart is no more yours or your mind is no more your property. You're manipulated, played, wooed, caught and broken before you know.
    But it is only when you don't have walls but veils, no one's interested anymore to steal what's within but to accept what is offered because homes with curtains are understood and the ones with heavy iron gates are envied and when doorless homes offer their heart and soul, they are appreciated, acknowledged and understood.

    ©_create_23

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    Doorless homes

  • _create_23 5w

    [FRAGMENT 5]

    Davina entered her house where silence in sleeves and sealed words on lips co-existed. She untied her shoe laces and smiled thinking about his neighbour and his sister.

    "Family gives unbeatable happiness." A poignant look masked her face.

    She lead to the basin and rinsed her face followed by massaging her face in circular motion. Swiftly and smoothly, she rubbed her forehead. She closed her eyes to wash over eye lids and sweetly scolded herself within, "Why in the world did I imagine that her son would be a little kid? Have I lost it?"

    After rinsing her face, while patting her face with towel, she confronted herself in the mirror and said, "have you?"
    She screamed for her self-embarrassment to succumb and sighed.

    After a refreshing wash, she unpacked her bag she carried for yesterday. It barely had anything except for her manuscript and some other books.
    "As always, I didn't read more than a paragraph yet I carried so much." She sighed.

    Humming a song and playing the music relieved her to an extent while she changed the bedsheet and separated clothes for laundry. The song switched to loud and energetic while she moved her feet to dance, more like walking energetically from one corner to the other and arranging her room.
    Sometime, it was the hair dryer as the mic or sometime it was her utensil and spoons to bang some beats to the song.

    After a long tiring cleanup of the house, she hopped on the sofa and powered on the TV. She surfed for a bit and the switched the TV off.
    "I better stop recharging the TV."

    Her phone beeped in the midst of it and she picked up the call, "Good morning, Davina".
    Someone in a loving cheerful smile greeted her on the other side of the phone.

    "Well, my morning happened at nearly six today."

    "Why? Insomnia again?" the girl on the call asked.

    "No, that's not the case, Niya."

    "So?" Niya asked.

    "Actually Mehta uncle wanted me to get his nephew and his sister from station as he was not feeling very well."

    "He must have said that he was not confident about driving, he must be feeling very well and fine." Niya chuckled.

    "Yeah, can say that. You know him well, maybe better than me."

    "Madam, you tell me everything. How can I not?"

    Davina giggled.

    "How did yesterday go? Did you leave the letters there?"

    "Yes, I did." Davina sighed.

    "Are you okay?"

    She hummed a yes.

    "I will get them once it is summer but not now. When the fragrance of spring and the scent of those letters collide, it tears me from within as it reminds me of that day."

    "I am so proud of you, Davina. You are so strong." Niya's voice cracked a little at the end as if she could feel the same amount of pain piercing as of Davina's.

    She took a pause and then continued, "leave all this, did you start writing, dear writer?"

    "Umm.." Davina bit the tip of her finger in subtle humiliation of her procastination.

    "Put that finger out of your mouth and start with the script!" Niya exclaimed.

    "Is there a camera here?"

    "No, I just know you. Now start with it."

    Niya cut the phone from her end for Eulia to start working on the manuscript of her new book.

    Davina unlocked her laptop and continued writing the chapter she left.

    ©_create_23

    TO BE CONTINUED...

    (Ha! This one's too short, excuse me)

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    [Untitled]

  • _create_23 6w

    [FRAGMENT 4]

    "Hey! Uncle!" Darsh shouted from the car window as he saw Eulia's neighbour standing at the door to welcome them.

    The old man beamed at the arrival of her sister and nephew. It seemed as if he had been waiting for this day to arrive since ages.
    He waved at Darsh with a welcoming smile.

    Davina pushed the breaks in front of her gate and went to open the trunk.
    Mehta uncle hugged his sister as soon as she made her way out of the car while Darsh touched his uncle's feet. The old man blessed him and said,"You have grown to be a handsome young man."

    "Indeed. I am your nephew afterall." Darsh continued.

    He caught the sight of Davina taking out the baggages from the trunk and he ran to help her with them.
    "No it's okay, I will get them." Darsh spoke while taking out the heaviest bag out of the trunk.

    "Why don't you join us for breakfast, Davina" Mehta uncle called.

    Davina wore a shy, perplexed gaze and moved her head sideways in negligence and said,"It's-"

    Before she could complete her sentence, Darsh interrupted her saying, "Uncle told me that he has chocolates at home. You should come."

    He then rolled the wheels of the suitcase following his uncle and mother to the house.
    Eulia was left with no choice but to atleast follow them inside.

    The house look neater and prettier than usual. Davina passed a compliment to the old man, "The house looks extraordinarily beautiful today, Mehta uncle."

    "Doesn't it always look like this?" the old man asked.

    "I know you must have done some repair and maintenance since you knew I was coming. I know you live in a mess.", His sister answered.

    "It is not the case" he smiled suspiciously.

    "It is."

    "It is not"

    "I don't believe your lies. I know you always make a mess of the house having books all around the place. You read one but keep hundreds surrounding you. You know Darsh, when your uncle was 8 years old, he used to-"

    He grinned to his sister's statement and offered her a glass of water.

    "I will let you win today. Have this!" He pushed a sweet into his sister's mouth to shut her words.

    "Stop speaking and playing with my reputation in front of these kids." the old man continued.

    Darsh and Davina laughed at the situation.

    "Ahh..the breakfast's at the table." Mehta uncle informed.

    "You both can start having it. I will have it later. I already had some tea and snacks in the train. Above that, I have a lot to catch up with my brother." She said while tapping over the lap of his brother.

    "Uncle, do you have chocolates?" Darsh asked while searching for them in the fridge but the old man was so busy catching up with her sister that he ignored him.

    "I don't need them." Davina said while closing the fridge.

    "But I do."

    "Oh!" She sqeased her fingers between her palms in embarassment.

    She moved past him and served the breakfast in two plates while Darsh poured juice in two glasses while half sitting on the corner of the table.

    They both took a seat and Darsh unwrapped the chocolate to crush it over his bread.
    Eulia bit her lips and scrunched her nose in subtle disgust of the thought of tasting chocolate over bread. She couldn't bear the taste of sweets for long and this made her almost losing her appetite.

    She took her eyes off his bread and gulped down her drink.

    "So, how do you know my uncle?" Darsh broke the silence.

    "Umm..I live in the next house."

    "Oh, great. But isn't it away from the city area? I mean you must have some job or place of work and a place like this-. Don't you struggle to travel to your workplace daily since it is so far from here?"

    "I don't really have to. I am a freelance writer actually so I just have visit the publishing house once or twice in a month. If a book is about to publish, then it gets a little hectic though but since I love it here. It is fine."

    "Damn! You are a writer. So nice to meet you, writer Davina."

    "It's a pleasure to meet you too. So, do you read books?"

    "Not really. I lack the patience it requires to read a book but ironically I hold the patience to understand art. I work with Timber entertainment but I will soon be leaving the job. So, yeah."

    "Woww..! Timber entertainment is HUGE! But why-" She exclaimed.

    "Not all employees are treated like celebrities there." He smirked.

    "We are going upstairs and Davina, you may leave after having the breakfast. Leave the plates here and today is Saturday, you remember right?" Mehta uncle punctuated their conversation.

    "Even today?" Davina questioned in surprise.

    "YES, ESPECIALLY BECAUSE IT IS TODAY" the old man chuckled and headed upstairs with his sister.

    Davina hummed a yes and continued slicing the omlet on her plate.

    "What is it about?" Darsh whispered under his breath chewing the late bite of bread-chocolate.

    "Mehta uncle and I have a thing for Saturdays, we have a "barbeque" evening without barbeques. We just grab some drinks and watch a movie."

    "Oh really? That's cool." He said swallowing and having a cool drink.

    ©_create_23

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    [Untitled]

  • _create_23 6w

    [FRAGMENT 3]

    The alarm went off while she was somewhere between the pages of the book that she had read yesterday. The imagery in the pages of the book became the dream of her night and it seemed difficult to exit the paradise of her sleep. Yet, she pulled herself off from bed and headed to the washroom as the alarm beeped irritatingly.

    After a cold water bath and eradicating her bad breath, she headed to the fridge in the corner to grab something to eat.
    "Nothing!", she uttered but this time with a smile.
    There were only some chocolates kept at the corner which she didn't like because they were too sweet for her to handle. The thought of his neighbour's nephew crossed her mind and she kept the chocolate inside the pocket of her jeans saying, "Kids like chocolates, don't they?"
    With a cheerful face, she took the car keys and locked the gate as she moved out. The morning was brighter than usual, the rose inside the metal cage was in its full bloom.



    It was already seven and the train hadn't arrived. She once again took a look at the photograph of her neighbour's sister and checked if she was standing at the right spot where the coach would be. A tea seller stood right next to her, she took this opportunity to ask if C1 was supposed to be here and he nodded in agreement.

    After a while, a honk followed by the train's arrival grabbed her attention. She took out the chocolate from her pocket, planning to offer it to the kid as soon as they arrive.

    A lady in her late 40s made her way out from the coach. Eulia at a glance recognised her.
    She ran over to her almost picking up the bag which was in her hand while the lady denied sweetly. She greeted her and said," I am Mehta uncle's neighbour. He was not feeling well so he told me to-"

    "Yes, we know. It is so sweet of you to actually be here to take us."

    "It's my pleasure. Well, where is you son?"

    She searched for the little kid to be hiding behind her mother.
    "Oh there is he."

    She pointed quite away at a kid who came running from another coach of the train.
    Eulia smiled and as he came closer, she offered him a chocolate.
    "You look so cute. You like chocolates?" She fluffed his hair while the kid ran away to another woman snatching the chocolate from her hand.

    While she was shook by what happened, a young man with a broad smile then said, "No chocolate here?"

    Before she could say anything, the lady said,"This is my son, Darsh"

    "Oh!?"

    They exchanged smiles and she said,"But I thought that-"

    "It's okay!" He said while carrying the heavy bag his mother was holding.

    Davina scratched her head in confusion and moved on. She lead the way to the car and opened the trunk to adjust the lugagge.

    ©_create_23

    TO BE CONTINUED...

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    [Untitled]

  • _create_23 6w

    [FRAGMENT 2]

    In the middle of the afternoon at the train platform, she wiped her phone screen, then hid the screen in between her palms and peeked from the slight separation of her fingers to check time on her phone screen under the blinding bright sky.
    "4:46" She noted.

    Her train was scheduled to arrive at 5, she still had nearly fifteen minutes to wait. She made herself comfortable on a bench which was scribbled with random words. Neglecting the presence of the book in her hand, she started observing those scribbles. There were random carvings of names enclosed in a shape of heart, arrival time of trains graved and a few cartoons, she could recognise. Davina smiled at those and reminisced her childhood days when she used to run till here and carve her name over benches. She could vaguely remember her bench was on platform two, near the tea stall which was no more there.

    As she was in the middle of reminiscing her childhood days, the honk of the train broke her daydream. She instantaneously got up, with her feet ready to run in any direction unknown of the position of her coach.

    As the engine moved past her, she focussed her eyes on the plates of coaches.
    "A1, A2, A3.." she read.

    She checked her ticket once again, it was C6.
    Surprisingly and luckily, C6 was just a few steps away from where she was waiting.

    She grabbed her empty seat and slid her bag under the seat keeping the book on her lap. She observed, there were quite less number of passengers, maybe because it was the first station the train had arrived in after leaving its home station.
    She opened her book and started reading from the page she had marked by folding at the upper right corner.
    "...Here sits destiny, dressed in a camellia dress, wearing the petrichor perfume along with frozen sandles bidding goodbye to winter as spring blossoms the station with life. Betwixt this, regret was dressed in yellow, simple and sober with her exceptional beauty, consoling monsoon for months now, as he missed the deadline to meet August. Monsoon tore the sleeves she wore in anger, blaming her for his loss. Upon his act, he found regret was cold and white behind the warm yellow dress. Regret took a step further, took a sigh of mixed emotions and rain turned into snow on her single touch."

    Davina took a deep breath, agreeing to what she read.
    "Regret is indeed an evil behind a veiled warm smile." she thought.
    She rested her head over the glass window of the train, watching trees running and clouds sprinting but none of them were able to outdo the speed she was going in. They were all aiming for the wrong direction. Only the sky seemed constant with her. Everything ran with time but she was still, still winning the race. It was only when she travelled, she realised that she was quite and pleased while others ran and competed. It felt less noisy yet calm.

    Before she knew, she was half asleep watching the constant pale blue sky with a tint of orange as the sun was setting. She felt a sense of relief. She had hesitation and discomfort when she arrived this afternoon but she carried relief as she was returning.
    She went into a deep silence sleep of satisfaction in no time.

    "Madam, the last station has arrived." someone tapped on her shoulder and left.

    She looked outside the window with her sleepy eyes while half yawning. The clock at the station had striked eleven-thirty, it was dark and the weather seemed breezy outside.

    She picked up her bag and left her seat. She caught the first taxi driver she met and left for her house.

    As the taxi driver left her home after paying him cash, she checked her surroundings and quietly lifted her doormat where her keys were hidden.
    "Oh! You are back." an old man interrupted.

    "Ah..yes!" She replied.

    "But you left today in the morning and you are back so early."

    She smiled and swiftly opened the lock of her house.

    "Can you do me a favour?" the old man asked.

    She turned around to listen him.

    "My sister and nephew are coming to my house tomorrow for a month to visit me after years."

    He took a pause and then continued.

    "I know you are tired but can you go get them in your car? I am not feeling very well today or else I would have gone to pick them up. Besides, I don't want my guests to come here taking a taxi and struggling with anything." He requested.

    She was sleepy yet feeling re-energised so she nodded her head and agreed to his request,"Sure. Anytime, uncle."

    "They are coming by the East-express at seven in the morning. Are you sure you will be able to wake up that early to get them after such a tiring trip?" the old neighbour asked in concern.

    "Yeah! Anything for you, Mr Mehta." She beamed playfully.

    "You take care of your health and don't worry. Your nephew will be here right at your door by the time you wake up."

    He thanked her with a blissful smile and said, "I have my sister's photo with me, I will send it to you."

    "Okay. Send it to my new number. You always forget that."

    "Right. Good you reminded me." He gave a weak smile as he left for his house.

    She pushed the door to head inside. The home felt lonely, cold and dry but her heart felt warm enough to make it lively. She was feeling unburdened. Insomnia had left her alone for today like the train had gifted her dreams to watch at night.
    She jumped on her fluffy bed to sleep after weeks at night without caring about changing her clothes or unpacking her stuff.

    After a few minutes, her phone notified a message, she checked it with her half opened tired eyes. It was from his neighbour. Seeing that he sent his sister's photo at the right number this time, she smiled.
    She then grabbed her phone wholely to set an alarm of six and then again tugged her face between the pillow.

    ©_create_23

    TO BE CONTINUED...

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    [Untitled]

  • _create_23 6w

    [FRAGMENT ONE]

    "..Spring is here wearing a flowery tiara as winter has folded its sparkling snow blanket while the summer has bought tickets for next month. Here sits destiny, dressed in a camellia dress, wearing the petrichor perfume along with frozen sandles bidding goodbye to winter as spring blossoms the station with life." she read.

    The station arrived faster than she expected. She marked the page by a fold at the right upper corner and closed the half opened printed punched pages of the manuscript.

    While Davina walked the empty dusty road, her footsteps added beats to the rustles of leaves, an old lady caught a glimpse of her through the window of her house.
    The heavy eyes of the old lady delivered strong curiousity for Davina to notice. She still kept walking and heading towards her destination.

    The kids over bicycles were returning from their school, giggles and warm smiles on their faces seemed gifted. It was afternoon, the sun was at its highest but the light didn't penetrate through to burn the skin, instead it embraced to warm the body, spring ensured it. The spring had come in this little town but had it arrived in her heart? This was the dense question she was walking with.

    Reaching her old house where no one now lived, she dug a small grave in the backyard. Unzipping her bag followed by a long heave, she took out the letters.
    "Burnt are those who leave us, buried are those whom we leave."
    With those words, she convinced herself that soon, she will come to take them back with her. She placed the letters at the centre of the little pit and buried them till summer arrives.

    The old lady appeared again, this time not watching her from the window but standing in front.
    "You cannot" the old lady mumbled.

    She looked into the eyes of the old lady and said, "Mom, I'll be back when the spring ends because spring carries regrets and not you."

    The filthy dark toned wrinkled body of her mother vanished in thin air as Davina's heart felt at ease. For once, she felt free from the hefty burden on her chest. She knew that she had let it go for a few months but not for long, she would be back as soon as the summer heat hits the ground. She had left her pain and longing for sometime. She had left the baggage she couldn't carry on the arrival of spring.

    Her back faced the buried letters, while she faced her old house. Passing an awkward closed smile beneath her breath, she moved on. The wind now carried smell for her, the smell of flowers, she could hear the buzz of bees and the rustles of leaves finally. All her rushing thoughts had silenced, she was able to look out instead of losing herself inside.

    ©_create_23

    TO BE CONTINUED...

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    [Untitled]

    With a new story~

  • _create_23 19w

    I don't know how dark it has turned out to be but the thought frightened me, for a while.
    Not taking any risk, TW.
    Obviously, fictional.

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    Never an oxymoron

    _______________________________


    Mom.
    Utter.
    Say it.
    Move your lips. Please.
    I beg you to budge your eye balls to the left for once and look at me.

    The cutlery in the kitchen was cold, untouched, the curtains dipped in air didn't stir like yesterday, my laugh which floated in the solid walls didn't bother to escape from my purple lips.
    The tub near the wooden door, the toothbrush near the sink, the bodywash in the bathroom, all seemed to be moaning with dust blowing above them.

    Dad.
    You ought to-
    Leave.

    The collar of his shirt smelled of ash, unlike everyday, like it did when his mom died.
    His eyes, his heart ready to water and wrench, nearly there. For fathers, it is always nearly there.
    His shoes were waiting for him alongside mine, his watch ticked like I fixed and his phone was hushed after years...

    Yash.
    Please.
    You can.
    I atleast expect you to see me.
    For one last time, in this twilight.

    He was shivering.
    No, it wasn't cold.
    It can't be me.
    It is never me.
    I can never scare him but today, did I?

    The silence was painful.
    Afterall,
    They had lost their-
    But I lost them.

    It's time for separation. I feel it.

    "Silence screaming" was never an oxymoron to begin with.
    I was prisoned in their heart,
    Scared and scarred.

    ©_create_23

  • _create_23 21w

    Inspired.
    To be edited, ig.
    Issue, biased brain.

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    Love, A Utopia?

    ___________________________


    He left.

    Seemed as if someone had suddenly kicked the sandcastle I knew would collapse, shattering my dreams.
    So, I waited.
    To pick up those broken pieces.
    They could have pricked me later.

    "Love, a utopia."
    I read this signboard at a restaurant we had last visited together.
    I was consciously not accepting it that day rather I was busy pretending to suffocate myself in his eyes, strangle myself in his hyperbolic compliments but nothing seemed to work. Nothing I had read or seen was working.
    I had gone.
    Swayed with the idea of love, being a utopia.

    No one accepts how being a slave in the name of love actually is.
    They all want to show it as a sparkling bead clenched between their teeth, alluring felicity, as a jewel only they seem to know about.
    Shh...if others would know how it is, its worth would fall, wouldn't it?
    Better to say it's unexplainable.
    Better to say not everyone handles it well.
    Better to say it's not fated in your strings.

    If your idea of attraction is love
    Doesn't mean it exists in that shade, singularly.
    Doesn't mean it can't be toxic.
    Doesn't mean it can't be grey.

    You don't realise how UNlucky you can be or do you?

    I had chewed my overwhelming ego, hammered a few lewd word nails and tripped after a bottle of wine but it still felt bearable.
    I didn't want another protagonist in my story and no one came. That was the luckiest thing I received that day.

    Should I say I am tired?
    Should I accept that there is no special one for me?
    Should I accept that I am ill-fated?

    No, I ain't waiting for anyone.
    My drunk-self just wanted to know if I should wait, wait for myself to sober up before slapping his face and spewing my questions because I believed.

    And it all came down to love, a utopia, didn't it?

    ©_create_23

  • _create_23 22w

    #storytime

    The emotion that can break your heart is sometimes the very one that heals it.
    -Nicholas Sparks

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    Dear diary,

    I'll confess.
    That day,
    She had pressed my spine closer to her chest by the lake and I couldn't resist but take the shade of her chin and switch my eyes to black. I could hear the leaves rustling and wind whistling but none of those mattered then.
    Only her warm breaths blowing over my frizzy hair, her fingers stroking my ears and her tears sparkling over my neck seemed to move me.
    I knew I had fallen into the unrescuable pit, finally, again.

    Still, it didn't scare me, the four letter word was already plunging and wrenching my heart with joy, impossible to be stopped. Dams of fear had broken, the lava of weakness had melted barriers for the first time, our bodies didn't sink into each other but we knew that our souls had already merged. We had stepped into the first chapter of our novel.

    The water drizzling from above, the blue gushing over the rocks, all screamed as she was in my arms, finally.

    Since then, this lake reminds me of Veronica, her blue ocean eyes and the sparkle in them whenever she would sit by this lake. I feel her here more than anywhere else and why not, it was the first time she owned me as hers.

    She had dropped her gaze on my right palm with generosity and locked her hand with mine. Wind attacking my face gave my heart the excuse to ooze out crystalline tears over my cheeks, it was too much to be taken, too good to be true, too beautiful to be written over pages.

    I crossed my left fingers hiding it from her, praying, for it to not be another dream. My mind was racing to find words, my lips were quivering to say sentences but they couldn't and before they could, she uttered, "I won't leave, I promise."

    ...................................................


    Sanity tickled.
    Harmony tripped.
    Peace tricked.
    And reality, synced.

    A lie, again, over pages.
    A rescue to live longer.

    She would never utter those words for she has already departed.

    ©_create_23

  • _create_23 23w

    Live more than you spill.

    #art

    Thank you for reposting @writersnetwork ❤️

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    Shades of an artist
    ___________________


    She died yesterday.
    I saw her lingering her tongue inside the glass wiped of adultered poetry craving for longingness and pain. She strolled on the streets, bordered with dictionary trees to realise the existence of synonyms and antonyms.
    She hoped they would get her back.
    She hoped they would rescue her.
    She hoped she won't die.

    But under the blankets of boredom and empty thoughts, beneath the clouds of blinding lights, she wondered if anything could be spilt except for her blood over the leftover pages of her diary. She danced, tuned and moved her feet over exploited beats. In the vacuum of died aspiration with the flow of her footsteps, vibrations occured, waves generated and music happened.
    It was never music she danced upon, it was dance which created music.
    How could she have missed that?

    So, she danced till she assassinated the writer within her. She crushed grammar beneath her feet, cut the fleshes of idioms with her canines and bathed the layers of metaphors under the waterfall of simplicity.

    She swirled the blue silk over the sky, adjusted her tiara and met alluring eyes, to dance all night forgetting that she ever was someone who stirred her quill in ink and drew letters on the wall.
    She whirled and tripped and swirled and frisked till she broke her heels to rips and dirt.

    But one day, she broke her ankle, her blush and mascara smudged over brown skin and she drank the potion of anxiety and endless desire with no gestures and adornment in her lingering stares.
    She tore the blue silk of her gown, the white beads and pearls fell on the ground. Her tiara made the perfect pallette, the slices of gown ended as a gorgeous canvas and the edges of the broken heel found themselves dipped in blood to paint the picture of her aura.

    She suffocated the dancer and the painter within her breathed, she drew till the paint brush wounded itself and suicided in the abyss.

    Another unfortunate day, her aura was set to fire and the spicy sharp sparks of the death of a painter grew torment, anger, suffering and melancholy within her cries. Words showered in her ears from the vacuum of desolation, the light of darkness sparked her eyes and she could smell the black roses of revenge blooming somewhere in the forlorn deserts of her life.
    She picked up the fragments of her shoes, the broken pieces of her paint brush, the slices of her gown and gazed at her dazzling burning aura.
    She stroked her quill over those pages once again, marking the rebirth of the writer within.

    ©_create_23