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An Unfinished Story

By Vanshika Gupta

Last night, mom came up to say I cry too much. She comes in the middle of a clouded night, seven weeks after he slammed the door on my face, seven weeks after we were separated completely, seven weeks after the daffodils grown inside me died, seven weeks after the lights in the house were permanently switched off, and asks me to stop.

"Stop" my mom says. She tells me I've ruined her nights. She tells me I've ruined the Moon. She tells me she can't sleep anymore. With purple bags under her eyes and a stare that could scare the Sun away, she whispers that she heard me once, begging the Universe to take the pain away, to remove it in such a way that I don't survive it, to end it, end me, and since then she tells me she hears me all the time.

The walls of her room shake with my pain. The water in her taps flow my dejection and there's not a corner left for her to breathe in peace. Her room echoes my yelps, she says. She clutches my arm, looks in my eyes, and tells me she can hear my heart breaking. It sounds like nothing she ever wants to hear again and so she holds my face and begs me not to cry.

"Please my girl. Please. Don't. Please don't. I can't bear it. I know you are heart broken. But please. Please. No more.”

“Listen.” she tells me and the pupil of her eyes enlarges. “We are women. We are born to sacrifice. We are women. We are born to bleed. We are women and so we are asthenic and men is allowed to use us. We can not fight with them. We can not blame them for anything. They are men. So forgot all this. It’s a one time thing and it will pass.”

I watch her, a silent spectator to her spectacle up till now and press my palm to her face, whispering a prayer in her ear.

I watch as she turns to leave and slowly, gradually, finally shuts the door. As she left, I hear the Moon snivel, I feel the night shiver, and I wonder if she knows the Universe heard me a long time ago.

By Vanshika Gupta

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