Free-Writing And The Writer

Free Writing

People, who love lightly and forget easily, move on without regrets and continue living uncomplicated and uneventful lives. There are no explosions of colors in their days, just a constant monochromatic grey of indifference for and from the world. They like white for its clinical and practical approach to life, deep and dark mysterious forces of black stay with them throughout their gloomy lives.

The pink of love is lost forever and the red of delight is gone, yellow of happiness is a distant memory and orange of zestfulness forgotten. Charcoal grey is their constant companion shrouding their lives in misery and apathy.

I dreamt I was in a cold room, lying on a marble slab, next to a grave. Suddenly the door to the room was closed and bolted from outside. It became pitch dark and it was difficult for me to even see my hands in there. No one heard my panicked screams and I was left to die alone in that room, with a grave for company. I was forgotten easily and abandoned dispassionately by all I knew, my existence was wiped clean off of the world. I crept into the open grave and hugged the sobbing skeleton inside, together we prayed for the well being of our tormentors, sleep came easily to me.

A hand on my shoulder woke me up; my mother was standing next to my bed with a cup of tea in her hand. It was morning and I was alive, thank God.

 By Sulekha Rawat

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