The echo in the void…
How long has it been, living under the rug. Hidden from the lights from outside. Eyes closed, hands covering the ears. Lips sealed and hairs covering the face which no one probably recognise any more.
There is a faint echo, coming from somewhere, probably everywhere. It just keeps saying you might have done something. You did it. You should think what you did. What have you done this time. It’s your fault. There’s only you to blame for all this.
But with everyone passing breath she murmers something to herself. Same words over and over again. Why ? Why ? Why? No! No! No! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!
But no one ever listens, there is no one to listen. With every breath she just keeps sinking more and more. Every echo keeps pushing her down somewhere colder, somewhere darker than where she is.
Then their are sudden gust of wind, trying to snatch her rug, her hide. To move her hairs back and leaves her face barren to the world while she tries to hold the rug.
She sees people staring at her, telling her how she is in the wrong. How everything is her fault. Her diseases. Her sorrows. Her life. Her losses. They say it’s your fault. She hears it and her face covered in black, blue and red, stars to get moist as drops drip down touching her cheeks down her neck.
She looks up glares at the scene in front of you and shouts I have done nothing. It’s not my fault. I’m sorry I survived. And then something hits her and covered in a new mark she looks down following the tear falling from her eyes. And the gravity pulls the tear, the red fluid and her head lower and lower until she is all bundled up within herself.
She again hides beneath the rug, breathing slow enough to hide her presence. Covering her ears, hoping to fade into the darkness. Slowly dissolving in her own tears and blood are her eyes, her mouth, her ears. Slowly she is becoming a remnant of herself.
Waiting for the day when the rug moves there will be only mark of dried up water drops.
