Her eyes scream fear, yet they accept that as a neccesity to her survival. Fear. She never thought much about that emotion. Now they drive her to survival mode. Betrayal. Always a dissapointment in her eyes.
She always thought about death, her life associating with it constantly. Never giving it a moment's thought if it could somehow enter her everyday life. Now she knows. And she is depending on it to never again come between herself and her desires.
The thrash of branches against her body, the brushing of wind against her face, and even the route she is to take, is all rushing at her like a storm.
Memories faded away with her on the long journey. New ones created.
A new gust of wind breezes over, the branches swaying along. Lonely, unforgiving.
Now the moon wanes, the sun rises over the horizon. A rickety figure bangs against the bark of the only tree in the field. Old, dusty rope clings to it, never wanting her to go. The rope binds her to this place, seeking refuge in her comfort. Daybreak almost arrives, the sun is reflecting off half of her gaunting face. Other half is in the shadows.
The sun is almost risen. Why is she outside? The cold kills, her chills making her shiver with every flake of snow falling to the ground. Nobody knows.
Her skin is rotting, delicate and pale. The rope clings to her neck, taunting her as if to say she will never leave. She wants that. Got that wish. Her undying wish is granted, and with every sunrise, comes a memory of that wish.
YOU ARE READING
Tragedy Is Defiant
Short Storya collection of very short stories, mostly tragic, very descriptive, and very entertaining. They require some thinking, though, so if you don't get the story the first time, read it again!
