Words can create. Words can destroy. Words weave the stories we all love and the ones that make us cry are made up of words. Words are the most decent way to inflict pain and perhaps the most vicious. Words matter. Words move. Here are the words of great people who have made me question tradition:
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ― Gilda Radner
“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.” ― Arundhati Roy. (Arundhati Roy is a legend. Talk about guts, talk about courage)
“When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back.” – Paulo Coelho
I read this first in a youtube comment and then found the picture. Love it ❤
IF YOU HAVEN’T READ HARRY POTTER AND JUST WATCHED THE MOVIE, BELIEVE ME IT IS NOT FOR KIDS<,GET THE BOOKS AND READ AND IF, I REPEAT, IF YOU ARE DISAPPOINTED I WILL NEVER POST A BOOK RELATED THING EVER AGAIN. GO AND READ THE LEGENDARY BOOKS> YOU OUGHT TO LOVE THEM. The beauty of this truth moves me EVERY SINGLE time 🙂
It was that time of the year again. In the town of Mitachi, the place I called home, every 18 year old was blessed with some extraordinary power. I thought of the powers my father, mother and sister had. My father could decipher the meaning of all kinds of dreams. My mother had the ability to sense lies. My sister was a blessed bird. She was blessed with physical powers allowing her to do any possible stunt, any split or any physically possible yoga pose. Because of that she became a stunt runner . Why wouldn’t anyone if he could balance all of his weight on a fingertip like she did. What else could one possibly ask for?
I was pulled out of my train of thought by the sound of the blow horn. Names were read out, teens gifted and all of them would know when the right time would come. Zuzak. Adam. Loran. Austin. Suzan. Leah and so on. Finally, my name was called out. Sophia Grace. I approached the goblet of smoke which kind of choked me . The smoke rose and encircled me and at that very moment my nails grew an inch and there was some kind of electricity flowing through my hands, charging through me. It wasn’t exciting, it was frightening. Little did I know that ‘Frightening’ was all it could ever be.
I looked at the goblet once and walked away. Back at home, no one asked me about my ability, they would know it soon enough.
I couldn’t sleep well that night. All I dreamt of was my sister entering a room with muddy walls, floor and a muddy ceiling. I ran after her, trying to stop her but she disappeared into the room.
i woke up with beads of sweat on my forehead . Anyway, I walked downstairs, had breakfast , the same old scramble and sausage, to erase the negative thoughts from my head. My sister was in a dancer’s stance. I was happy to see her at her happiest self. I gobbled up my food and went to work at the local greenhouse.
Work and the day were okay or so it was until I came back to an empty house.
My parents came home at 8 in the evening. I was scared out of my mind. Understatement. My mother had just entered when our neighbor Mark followed , carrying the lifeless body of my sister.
They told me that she fell of a cliff and the raging water never spared her a breath. All I could do was rock back and forth, stifling the sobs.
I dreamt again that night. I saw Loran , the third boy to be gifted in the same muddy room . But this time he was shrieking and when the cries came to the highest, I woke up.
Loran died the next day.
If only I had known.
I could sense death , that was my gift . I realized it on the day they told me that Loran was out in the wild when a boar strangled him. his screams still echoed in my head. Pleading.
Today was the day, I needed all of the bravery in the world. I had found the solution to my self-destructive power. Wasn’t life just a blink from a train….I would pass.
I lay down, breathed a long breath and dug my nails into my throat and it no longer hurt. I was set free. I tore my skin apart and as I escaped into nothingness, I saw myself entering the room.
Behind the scenes:
I love contradicting my own statements , hence the first caption..
2. The muddy room refers to the grave. An indirect comparison.
3. Yes, I get nightmares . Do you?
Let me know about your fears in the comments 🙂
Story: My own creation.
Captions: ‘Stitches ‘ by Shawn Mendes.
I hope you liked this story. If you did, please share it as It is one of my dearest works. Good day.