Presently, I heard a slight groan, a slight growl, of pure vengeance, terror lurking beneath the shadow behind me. Even yet, I refrained my movements and kept as still as I possibly could. The movements shuddered, oh so cautiously --cautiously that if my eye had not fell upon the very crevice of the attic, my sagacity, as will powered as it may have been, would have been torn by the idea of being foolishly tracked.
I scarcely breathed. He had watched me, from the time the moon had given its pierce-shattering glow, till the moment when the sun rose towards its weary depths.
The sky however, remained its iridescent blue during the day of this fateful time. Oh, you would have giggled hilariously looking at how he followed my steps.
I ran, I jumped, I sprinted, I swore ravenously. Yet he continued on quietly, the soft padding of his steps meeting the leaves in the forest that we had once met in.
The attic --very, very warm, giving off the true worth of heat, angered me
Yet, how calmly my story can be told.
It’d started ten days ago, my father was furious about my leaving work. Boring it was, the pay I had wished for simply was not being given.
I had worked for over five months, and not even a raise? How could they fail to identify my hard work? When Father heard about this, he acutely, very mutely told of his disappointment in me, my inability of working hard. I’d rather run away from him, oh how he always acted all prim and proper, how royal and elegant, how positive, when there was absolutely nothing to be glad about. Nothing, I hark, nothing.
On the fifth night, the moon was hardly ever out in the night. It was the first time to permanently rid myself of the toxic lifestyle I faced. What other escape would I commit towards? How brave could I be?
Hark I crazy, nonetheless I sneaked out of my bedroom window. The bushes I fell on were of course not too rough, but pain was felt in my back. Nevertheless, I ran through the outskirts of the estate without a single regret in my mind.
Medication I had been taking, all spilled out onto the custom-made brick sidewalk. I took five, spilling the rich contents into my mouth.
There was nothing to worry about --no instructions to be heard --I could not detect anything wrong.
But the noise, the scuffle, the shuffle, made by movements turned cold. It was then that I turned around, and looked at the man who I’d hated ever since my very springs of childhood.
He shouted, quiet, quieter, the quietest I’d ever heard. That day, I knew, by what he informed me, was that I wasn’t truly mad. Or so I thought.
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Written by: Nayana Sharma
Date Published: 03/10/2023
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