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Act

Molly Verma

She fought till the last breath left her as she hung from the ceiling fan.

I made her climb that chair. I stood there still, because I knew every strength in her life was dead; her world had fallen apart.

Running and panting, she did all the time, so much was there in her brain to think that she never thought about herself. It's tough for anything to survive like that.

The world hates coward, but she wasn't one. She was just tired. There was no one to crease her back into her coat, to comb her hair back into a band, to wait till she falls asleep, to catch her when she falls back; no one who could overlook her crimes.

It tortured her the way the world expected actions out of her but insist her not to react. She wasn't messed up; she wasn’t insane she was just hopeless - as much as the world was hopeless with her.

As I stood at her cremation, I heard people talk about how they knew she would do the same, how they knew her actions were insane and how they knew she was distantly normal.
As she lay in her grave listening to the analogue static murmurs.

I smiled listening to the world talk about a girl who gave up on herself- because of them, yet all they could do was to talk about her insecure brain.
I held my tears back and winded up the cremation as fast as possible. I believed in the righteousness of her actions, I believed in the legitimacy of her feelings and I believed in the gravity of her pain.

As I turned back from the gleaming fire, I could smell the musky, sweet perfume. It reminded me of her warmth and her liveliness.

I wanted to run back to the half-burnt her, hug the burning woods, catch the fluoresce, to make her all over again.

I didn't.

Because her pain was screeching in my ears, her nervousness haunted me, her battle cry sent chills down my spine.

The world will slowly forget her. What will remain visible would only be me.

I know I did a crime when I killed my soul, but I was tamed for the murder.
She wasn't ineligible to live; but I had to act.


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