Bruised

 

She was bruised.

“You have come so late. Where have you been?”

She silently drifted towards her room without answering and latched the door. And there she fell at that very position on her knees and the tears welled up in her eyes. Her mouth gaped open and a muffled voice of shock escaped her mouth. She bit on the curtain so as to prevent her wail be heard by anyone.

She was retching. She ran towards the washroom while bile rose up in the back of her mouth and she puked her miseries out.

She couldn’t believe what had happened with her.

“It is my fault.” She wiped away what was left of her mascara and lipstick and rubbed her papery white skin. The tears had dried out. She clawed at her face.

“It is my fault.” She faced the mirror.

“I am bruised and it is my fault.”

* Written in response of VisDare 27.

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that feeling

you know that feeling

when out of nowhere,

a thought comes across your mind

and you want to jot it down,

.

not because it is an important thought

but because something within you is urging you

to bring out the flicker of that light

that passed by the contours of your mind,

.

scribble it on a piece of paper

with a blue ink or black or even red,

keep on writing till the time

you have completely puked it out,

.

then store it inside a table drawer

already flooding with many such others,

place it carefully at the top

to be read some time in the future,

.

when you have almost forgotten about it,

one day you find it lying there lifeless, still

and read it in the light of the day

and simply smile at that cold thing from the past.