She arrives.
Her destination is an ugly grey, but she begrudgingly moves towards it, dreading the loneliness.
She is forced to take away the sounds by cruel disciplinarians and the world is monotone once more.
Alone in a crowd, she slides into a more comfortable grey and waits for the misery to start once more.
As the world sinks further towards becoming a muddled mess of only one sad grey, there's a flash in the corner of her vision.
Who?
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YOU ARE READING
A Never-ending Circle
عاطفيةShe. Just she. She exists among whispers and sounds. She exists among colors and time. Who is she?
