Post #635

As she stood under the shower, with a red stream flowing down the drain, it was not only her body being washed, but also the innocence, love, faith, and trust within her. She scratched her hands; her feet were trembling, and her face showed no colour except white. It was not her eyes that were hurting, but her heart that was crying. She could not think of anything. Was she the same girl who had once been sensitive and soft toward beings in pain? And today, she stood before herself as a murderer. She had killed the love of her life—the man she had once boldly declared before everyone, “My father is the hero of my life.” The more she thought, the more she hated. A wave of anger, rage, disgust, and pain ran through her, adding to her miserable condition. A frustrated feeling choked her when the face of her best friend came in front of her. She was not afraid of imprisonment, but of facing her better half—her friend, her best friend for life. She had killed a rapist. She had killed her love for him. She was ashamed to be called his daughter now. She felt insulted even to pray for his soul. He was free now, but she was just a body existing—no longer alive. ~Tanu<3 @Growingbytes🦋🦄