The Ghost


She sat down  and closed her eyes and hummed to herself.  A charming curve formed on her face. She thought of a distant land and wished herself to be there. She wanted to entertain herself with the thought of a world where she could walk around with her heart on a sleeve. The world she is in is a terrifying one and there is no room for good will. Her abashed face is a proof of that.

She glanced down at the cold body at the foot of the chair. She could see a crimson halo forming around the head where she had shot the person. It was one tiny pressure on the trigger of the gun and the job was done.

It is appalling to think that one swift movement completed the ordeal, yet, she survived every blow of life.

The many precious moments lived could halt at the faintiest of heartbeat. We hold no grudges or love at the very moment.

She opened up the window to let the night breeze in. She stared intently at the far end of the road for she has reached her end. She can hear footsteps approaching towards her. She wanted to run away. She approached the cold body and yanked at the handkerchief held by the, now, corpse.

The door bolted and her mother let out a loud wail and our protagonist stood horrified. Her mother clung on to the body and sobbed, for her child is dead.
She wanted to reach out to her mother and comfort her.

But, all she is, now, is a passing ghost for she blew her own head off and took her life.

Suicide is desperate, lonely and tragic.
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