By Muskan Kaur
She was giggling,
eyes fixed on her phone
a message from her little brother:
Di, come home quickly. I have a gift for you.
Her lips curled into a smile,
and she typed back,
"Yes, little champ. On my way."
And on her way she was
when she heard the footsteps
slow, heavy,
unfamiliar.
She turned.
Two eyes met hers:
dark,
empty,
carrying the weight of blood.
She froze.
Her heart knew
what her mind dared not.
She ran.
Hope pounding in her chest,
fear thundering at her heels.
But the monsters were faster.
They grabbed her like a doll,
slammed her against the silence,
tore at her being
cloth, pride,
voice, soul.
Her phone hit the ground.
Her dreams followed.
They left her there,
broken,
bleeding on a street too cold to care.
Tears like rivers,
her throat, a muted scream.
All she wanted
was to see the gift
her little brother had for her.
A buzz.
A message blinked through the cracked screen:
Di, are you okay?
Why aren’t you picking up the calls?
And just before her eyes surrendered to the dark,
she wondered if she’d ever unwrap that gift.
That night,
as she slipped into silence,
the monsters
slept in peace.