Short stories and poems

It was the evening of her aniversary.

"Once a year, I return by the grace of God. Sometimes it's nice to visit my home on earth, but I don't understand why I desire to relive the same pain each time."

A lock of hair slips past her shoulders as she takes her last breath before her forehead lands on the cream surface of the dressing table her arms were resting on, the abhorrent thud reverberating like a final whisper sliding past a pair of lips whose warmth is impetuously dissipating; a murmur that proverbially falls on deaf ears despite the desperation that befalls the one struggling to strain their hearing to catch those fading words, but to no avail, as when one would attempt to lay their open palms before a weeping sky, hopeful gleams in orbs as they anticipate cradling even a single raindrop — only for the frail diamonds to shatter into multiple streams on the surface of the flesh.

Sylph-like fingers loosely curve themselves around the body of a china teacup, the milky hue of the paint lucent under the penetrating gaze of the flittering flames of the candles that had silently watched with baited breaths as the young ballerina raises the drink to her slightly parted lips, cinnamon irises quivering with a mellow gleam within their endless pools. Both the girl, neatly esconced on the cushioned chair embroidered with an intricacy of interwoven patterns, and her twin beyond the motionless glass waterfall before her, stare into each other's eyes with a look that emanates an intense aura of self-loathing, accentuated by the augmentation of creases between their eyebrows and coalesced with teeth clenched together to form taut jaws — the benign affliction, seeping into the tender skin of her cheeks, deleterious to her mind.

The teacup lingers inches away from the lips that has now begun to tremble, that vigorous facade dispersing like sugar upon contact with steaming tea.

Inner corners of eyebrows inch closer together as they curve upwards, etching such a heartrendering expression on the child's pale face.

Each second can be counted by the unpretentious ticks resounding within the air, the hands of the wooden grandfather clock that is abjectly obnibliated by the shadows effectuated by the golden gleams of candlelight fluttering gently like the dainty wings of a butterfly — tremulous as they descend and ascend in a relentless pursuit of nothingness that will eventually cease once the accumulation of dust exhorts the termination of the movement of the clogs.

Those who enter this room hardly ever pay much heed to the arid taste of the clicks that perforate through the fine casing of refulgent glass, often finding themselves hurrying back out through the door without even the smallest of acknowledgments.

Many thirst and drink upon the alleviation that percolates from the monotonous ticks of a clock, but only one heart clenches at the agonising pain searing through her head, the clicks scourging her ears.

Gossamer pearls silently graze past the corners of almond eyes before trickling down her face.

Raising her free hand to brush away the tears, her delicate fingers immediately recoil from the ice that had already seeped into her skin.

Glistening orbs, like an arcadian lake scintillating under the austere glare of the sun, gaze back at her through the reflection of the cracked mirror; dark lashes emblazed with sterling beads, as like a cobweb adorned with frail diamonds of dew in the early hours of the morning, as she closes her eyes to fill her vision with darkness instead of the broken doll incarcerated in the world beyond the glass.

Incised scars and smudges of bruises can only appear on the gleaming surface of a mirror — a reflection of what cannot be seen within a person from the outside.

A narcotic waltz drifts into the room through the cracks under the door, as like a swan gliding through the enigmatic silence of the night, sweeping its tender fingers past the girl's cold ears and interweaving them into the slightly disheveled locks illuminated by the veil of the pale moonlight streaming through the open window.

A similar instrumental piece had played on her last night, a melody that should have sounded closeby; instead, the child hid within the confinements of a locked room, staring down at the china teacup that her friend had
gently pressed into her hands with a kind smile after making an assertion over the debilitation that was putative from the bleary eyes that belonged to a petite ballerina who never ceased to obtain gazes brimming with adoration and fondness from the entire auditorium each night

Though her smile was warm, even the weary child couldn't help but notice the glimpse of a malevolent spark flickering within the depths of those hazel eyes.

Her friend had raised her hand to wave goodbye before pivoting on her heel and skipping down the empty corridor, hastily wrenching her eyes away from the incertitude stirring within the mahogany eyes of the smaller girl, the soft hum of a lullaby slipping past her pink lips; enchantingly tantalising, like chocolate melting on one's tongue.

A retreating figure may believe that they have finally won the war, but the sad smile hidden within the curtain of a shadow could speak louder than even an uttered word would have been able to.

Tilting the delicate china towards her parted lips, the cooling tea trickles down her throat, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Well, someone had to go."

Before her eyelids can flutter closed, her cinnamon hued orbs catch a glimpse of a younger girl trembling in her seat on the other side of the room as she stares at her with widened eyes quivering with desiccation.

The ballerina's body falls slack, her forehead landing onto the dressing table without a sound just before she fades away, almost as if she was simply a distant memory, never to be seen again.

The chill that had clung to the air, disperses almost immediately after the disappearance of the pale weeping figure, yet, the gaze of the remaining child doesn't waver from the mirror of the dressing table laced with dust, like she had just laid eyes on a cadaverous being.