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When the world starts to feel unworldly with its corrupted sins and hollow desires, she finds solace in the depths of her palms. Wilted rain bled from her eyes, trailing down her skin like shadows, heavy and relentless, as if her grief refused to dry. A pool, a pool of salty water formed at her elbows, where they found the cloth of her trousers, darkened at the very place where her elbows sank into her thighs. Glass beads clung to her skin, trembling before they slid down and disappeared into the fabric below.

Bolts of agony seared through her body. Every single gush of blood was laced with tremendous pain that navigated through her veins. The pain, so vividly sanguine, felt as if hundreds of needles were pricking her skin all at once.

She quivered, a meditation of suffering, as chills crawled down her spine with absolute terror. Yet she made no noise, her breath trapped in her chest, her trembling fingers pressing deeper into her palms as if silence could contain the storm inside her.

The outside world lay frozen in silence, as if even the air held its breath. But inside her, a tremendous roar swelled, growing louder with every heartbeat. A trepidation of horror, an unkempt chaos of contradiction, and a strident banter of withering life.

Written in the quiet hours, when thoughts unravel and silence feels like it’s watching.

~ Saukhya K.