Staring out | Short Story

Staring out

It was cold, and a heavy fog covered the green hills The colors were gloomy and woeful, as if they were mourning for the unknown .

The air suffocated the cries and feelings in my heart, and the hatred in my throat.

A cruel cold that marked the deep of my entire body.

I stared out of my bed and put my hand on the steaming glass so that the steam would not deprive me of seeing the cold beauty of nature.The house smelled of poverty and despair.

have always hated the smell of poverty in human homes. The scent that smelled of the gradual death of human desires and the decay of the soul. Their eyes gradually lost their radiance like dying stars. And it was as if I had lost my soul on top of that foggy green hill behind that giant green tree.

The sound of the door opening and the limping of my mother's footsteps echoed in the soulless house clearly.She held a large bucket of water, and she was trying to pull that bucket towards the big pot on the stove and in the boiling pot there was nothing to see except the a bunch of dried vegetables . I looked at my mother's pale face and at the spoonfuls of food that went to my mouth. In her eyes, she had no feeling for her paralyzed daughter

it seems there is no difference between me and other things in that soulless house.

a heavy burden on her shoulders that she had to carry for the rest of her life.Without anyone asking her if she wanted to or not.The chains that were with him from her daughter's birth.

There was no longer a sign of hope in her eyes as if the darkness of the self-made prison of human beings had swallowed her up as well.

I stared out to watch that foggy green hill behind the steamed windows which I thought I lost my soul somewhere under that big green tree on the hill. I hated the sunset cause it stole all my hopes and happiness but there was another reason for that growing hate.

My always drunked father.

He used to be the gatekeeper of our city. As a child, he dreamed of becoming rich. When he grew up, no matter how hard he tried, he could not achieve the money and wealth he had in mind. He could hardly find a job as a janitor.

The job was very similar to his life. Like dreams that he always waited for but never got them. Eventually, because of those vain expectations, my father became depressed and took refuge in alcohol to escape.

He always complained about everything, and if he did not beat my mother every time, it was as if he had not done his job correctly. my mother did not protest either. Maybe she had accepted the beating as one of the things he did every day—another of those chains.

And I was a creature who was treated like furniture. A paralyzed girl who was always in bed, and someone even bothered to move her. But that night was different. The father had forgotten his usual behavior. And he was enthusiastically speaking about a witch who had just arrived in the city.

Our city was so far out which means it's rare someone would come to our city.The arrival of this wizard is like a piece of black stone falling into a black pond.

Everyone is aware, and all of them want to achieve a little information about the witch.

I do not know why my weak shoulders began to tremble when my father mentioned the name of the witch. It was a dark night. The ominous howls of wolves now seem closer.

Last night I saw my winged friends in a dream. With their gentle hands and warm and gentle smiles, they put my cold hands in their hands. They were my old friends. They always came to my dreams since childhood.