WASHING THE STAINED DISHES, I glared at the report cards.
You'll lose credit hours if you miss one more class.
One more B and you'll lose your scholarship.
One more wrong step and you'll lose your dreams.
That's what I've always been doing, losing, not all at once, one by one so I can also lose the feeling that there can be nothing greater than this that I lose.
Inayat, you can't afford this. You have to work hard for your dreams.
The plate slips out of my hands and I frantically move to catch it. I can't afford to destroy one more thing. I can't afford anything, mom. Nothing comes easy to me anyway and what dreams? I don't even know what job the degree I'm getting qualifies for. Whose life am I building? This was never my dream. All I have ever dreamt of was to be loved. Perhaps the death of me would earn that, the flowers over my casket would symbolize that love.
The clouds rumbled, I clutched onto my earplugs and phone and ran out of the room. I kept running until I reached a secluded park with zero people at this hour and weather.
I stared straight at the blocks of windows, some with sheer darkness and some with faint life, some people scribbling, some using their phone, everyone outside this deranged mind looked at peace. The raindrops rolled over my crisp tears. When do I grow out of this teenage want? Is wanting to be loved actually a kid's ask?
Yesterday was my 20th birthday but I don't remember being nineteen and eighteen. I've been seventeen the whole time. In my mind, I was in the loop of my imperfections and the loop only kept growing, now I'm entrapped in this huge circle of reality and I want every way out of it.
When will you stop being clumsy? When will you remember to do one thing properly? You can't even cut a fruit without chopping your finger, how will you live alone?
Exactly, mom, how do I?
I witnessed the lighting and I was waiting for the sound. This would be the best time to visit that haunted house. Haunted houses always look the best under merciless rain.
The abandoned swing laid broken. As the heavy rustling wind blew past me, I gathered my hair in the claw clip. The leaves crunched under my feet as I slowly entered the limestone castle obviously bouncing over the gates. There was something about abandoned places, they always looked welcoming to me. I was always attracted to the dead of time and the dead of being. Yes, this is my life, this my ambition, I've always studied dead things. I've always liked eerie things. Forensic labs would be my place for sure.
I brought out my phone to take pictures. The Pythian Castle looked like it housed orphan children. I walked further to find myself into a dungeon with cells. Hesitated, I took more pictures when I saw a shadow, faint whisper of the song Heroes. David Bowie! I could smell the cigarette from here.
Surfing through my phone, I finally tapped onto the recorded police siren. Siren blared in the otherwise quiet dungeon and the person grew alert but he did not move.
❛Hands where I can see them❜, I play-shouted. He stood up and looked back at me, menacingly raising his hands. God! Him again!
❛I knew that I knew you, Inayat.❜
YOU ARE READING
the pink skies don't lie
Romance❝in front of my mother and sisters, i pretend love is cheap and vulgar. i act like it's a sin but at night, i dream of a lover who makes love like he's separating salt from water.❞ -----Salma Deera from salt.
