3.43am - 25.05.24
Branches swayed with an eloquent violence, much like the strands of golden brown that would have danced away in the winds did they not come attached to the womans' head. The small brunette was stood in the middle of a paddock, arms outstretched, chin lifted to the sky and eyes softly closed. Her breaths were quiet, but deep, allowing the winds to pick up the corners of her dress and dance together. A single drop of salty water escaped the corner of her eye, rolling down her cheek ever so slowly, the winds continuing to push against the gravity coaxing it down.
It'd been almost nine years. Nine years since her heart had been buried in pieces beneath the earth; since his heart lay lifeless within her broken chest. Even with the suns' rays bouncing off her porcelain skin, a darkness wrapped around the woman like a snug blanket. She'd never realised how heavy a heart could become once dead. It turns black, and cold, and eventually,
so does the rest of the one who carries it.
YOU ARE READING
Scrambled.
Short StoryA plethora of short stories, poetry & snippets of books I'll never write.
