"There are robbers in my house. They have guns. They fired at my parents who were in the room downstairs, and now... They're dead, probably. I have locked myself in my closet and writing this just so that I don't start panicking. I have a blue pen which is almost out of ink; the words written by it getting fainter with each letter. I'm going to write about whatever that has been secret to everyone, things which were locked in the secret box of my mind. I will write till the ink finishes. Or till I die. I'm scared.
"My life has been really hard for me lately. At one point of time, I decided that I wasn't good enough for this world and dying would relieve the universe of one heavy soul, but I was wrong. Now that I'm so close to death, my heart is beating very fast and tears are streaming down my face like a waterfall. It feels like I'm hanging from a cliff with just a small child holding me, trying to save me from falling. The only thought racing my mind is 'I'm gonna die.'
I don't know what to do.
"I'm trying not to make any sound while crying. I don't want them to listen to me and find me. I don't want to die anymore. Instead, I want to live and pursue my career of becoming a ballerina. Ballet, for me, has always been a way of relieving stress and expressing my emotions. What I cannot say through words, I can say through ballet. Ballet is oxygen for me.
"I feel like have a sharp sword hanging over my head, supported with just a frail thread which could break any moment. I'm dreading that moment.
"As I write, my tears fall on the words and since the ink is not impervious to water, there are blue blotches instead of words at some places. The ink is getting fainter and fainter, and my heart is racing faster and faster.
"I can hear footsteps. I know they're climbing the stairs and coming to my room. I know they will kill me. I'm counting the last few seconds I have left to live. I hear the door open. I stopped breathing. Negative thoughts flooded my mind: how much pain would I feel when the bullet would penetrate my skin? What have I
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lightning and flowers
Poetry\\we all are jigsaw pieces, and we all have a puzzle we can fit into. do not carve or change yourself just because you don't fit in. hold on; you're perfect.// A collection of short stories/poetry. All are written by me, unless stated otherwise. En...
