Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Reliving the dry bones.
She lingered in an empty room, slumping on her bed like a frail puppet chained her limbs in place by fraying strings.
The lights coming from the outside were dimmed, stretching inherently from the uncurtained windows. The lusterless dusk poked the half of her face: one eye stayed closed while the other lazily winked, emphasizing her dull blue iris beneath. Her hair scattered without direction, every strand severely tangling in the messy curls that lapped and devoured the pale bedsheets as if a bloody murder happened.
Utterly still, lifeless as the fall leaves that gust outside.
Then she blinked, twice or thrice, wanting to doze off. But when she did, she only wished if she could join all the dead and return to dust.
It was normal for a child to feel sad when a parent died. But her sadness continued for an extended time, worsened, and significantly interfered with her normal functioning.
At first, she was lying silently, her face was stoic and skin pale. The sky became willow and the clouds had formed in a hazy grey. There was a lazy rain pouring out, pattering eerily against the rooftop.
A torrent of wind started to blow harsh, and the grim rain became stronger.
Once again, she dawdled in the painful memories. She gathered every recollection of her parents and put them inside the coffin of her heart. The little girl recalled how her mind got jarred because of the tragedy, how the pain seared through her skin and took away every feeling she ever had.
The girl lost her ability to talk. Her voice had become short just like her father's and mother's in their final days.
Although she was voiceless, every few minutes she would scream, not like one of those shouts of hysteria and terror, but worse. Howling wind, lashing rain, cracking flashes of lightning, and torrential thunders. It was more than a storm, but the nature of a beast. It had a genuine quality of a person consumed by a pain that knew no end or limit.
It would only go quiet when her energy seemed to drain into the soil. By dawn, she was again stoic and fragile, hated that her lifeless body was being greeted by the rising sun.
Then, her agony in a form of heavy rain and wind would surge, making all the people in the streets groaned in vexation.
It was worse, and the elders of the village knew that this had to stop.
