The brightest star was shining in all its glory making lives miserable everywhere.Still, there were people on the streets who had errands to run and some money to earn. A little girl sat in the corner of her empty house looking outside her poor window. She knew her mother and father won't be back until dusk still she waited; in desperation, in anxiety. She was to be at her school but she couldn''t put her soul together anymore because she had died.
No she wasn't in pain or in shock. There wasn't a dark story lurking at her from far that made her what she had become at this hour; wretched, broken and weak. She had seen 'Her' again. Through the broken glass of her window, stained with blood, she saw 'Her'. As if her soul was blazing again, as if she was the one who was aberrant. She ran. Ran from her class and fell off to the ground. 3 floors deep. She died and the one who waited in the shadows was cold, it was 'Her'. 'Her's' imagination was a vivid fantasy of a virtuoso. She made the colours blend with a persons soul while she made music out of her hands. She was the enchantress, she was the witch and she illuminated the room the moment she sang her misery. Bright yellow, red and green splashed on the floor. Silver dust fell from the dome as if angels had blessed the rags. Buoyant as she was, she rose like a dream and started floating, swirling in the room for what looked like the mighty ocean, except that the colour was Red. Hours she spent singing and praising, for the song she sang was covetous. The time for the night to descend had come and she knew she had to follow.
She bountifully reached the mud and silently went back into sitting again in that corner of the little girls' poor house, like a shadow, dark, lean, staring and smiling at the mirror bewitched. The little girl was never coming back and she was never leaving.
No she wasn't in pain or in shock. There wasn't a dark story lurking at her from far that made her what she had become at this hour; wretched, broken and weak. She had seen 'Her' again. Through the broken glass of her window, stained with blood, she saw 'Her'. As if her soul was blazing again, as if she was the one who was aberrant. She ran. Ran from her class and fell off to the ground. 3 floors deep. She died and the one who waited in the shadows was cold, it was 'Her'. 'Her's' imagination was a vivid fantasy of a virtuoso. She made the colours blend with a persons soul while she made music out of her hands. She was the enchantress, she was the witch and she illuminated the room the moment she sang her misery. Bright yellow, red and green splashed on the floor. Silver dust fell from the dome as if angels had blessed the rags. Buoyant as she was, she rose like a dream and started floating, swirling in the room for what looked like the mighty ocean, except that the colour was Red. Hours she spent singing and praising, for the song she sang was covetous. The time for the night to descend had come and she knew she had to follow.
She bountifully reached the mud and silently went back into sitting again in that corner of the little girls' poor house, like a shadow, dark, lean, staring and smiling at the mirror bewitched. The little girl was never coming back and she was never leaving.
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