Buckets cannot be prevented from overflowing. At one point or another, the bucket will overflow and everything put inside will flow outwards.
The wrinkled sheets lay crumbled in a deformed sphere under the window sill. The colorless walls reflect nearly no light and the sill's bars enclose the light attempting to crawl mischievously into the room. The body lay limp by one corner. The dinner remains crumbed and sliced in another and stiff concrete appears palpable. The corpse-like body seems to open its eyes. It blinks. It looks towards the singular light ray that managed to slip itself in. A sharp exhale. It's eyes close and the world disintegrates into a universe exploding in black and white. Nothing remains aside from the ray. The ray that managed to escape the outside and find haven in the enclosed structure. The body falls feeble and a smirk runs from one end of its face to the bottom of its ankles. The inside is somehow more dangerous than the outside.
YOU ARE READING
Short Ends | Personal Collection
Mystery / ThrillerA collection of short, written pieces by yours truly. Much of what I write is either open-ended or leaves itself to be interpreted. -Bella
