And then came the day when she finally stopped responding.
An emotionless, reckless, nasty robot she became.
If there was any potion for all the shame present in the world, she had drunk it all and forgotten it like a dreadful memory. No, she was not in her senses. She had lost the sanity.
She had forgotten what normality was. She forgot what permanent emotions felt like. She skipped coherence. She missed stability. The only thing that had its eternal presence on her life was numbness. Yes she became numb. A moving organized piece of flesh and bones was what could best describe her. She kept fighting the battle for too long and then gave up. She declared she quit.
Once there was a time when she wanted to fly high, transcend boundaries of sea and sky, but not anymore. She had dreams larger than life, passions bigger than her size, but strength? She lost it. Hope? It betrayed her. There was never going to be a better time, only worse it gets by each passing day. There was a time when she wanted to laugh and sing, set free her burdened wings, but life? It mocked her. She lost on life or life lost on her was hard to say, but they were not going on the same way. Lucky are those who have it going for them smoothly. Because the edgy path leeches out all the sensation from you. It stoops you down to the level of being numb. Life ridiculed her, for her failure to fight back, but never tried to stop by and ask her why. If only had it tried to slow down its pace, she might have striven to bring the lost pieces back together. Her existence was divided into bits and portions, half bruised, half broken. Her voice had died within, forced to be mum, it sulked and screeched. Asking for a space to let out the heat. She was forced to be quite, never let her thoughts be heard, never let her fears be shared, never let her pain be less. And when years later she was asked to speak, she didn’t know where to start from. She couldn’t decide the beginning and the end. How do you describe a repressed emotion, an emotion that was forcibly locked up and pushed behind the bars for so long? How do you even begin to explain the trauma you had been going through? Is there a chronology that can define the journey of your pain? How do you find words to speak the unspeakable? Thus, tears rolled down her frozen facial frame. They were merely drops of water rolling down her pale cheeks screaming that she too had feelings sometime ago. She too was hurt. She too suffered. But the soul that knew what emotions were, had long ago abandoned her. Now it was just water that rolled down, proof of her misery, proving her damage.
It was never a choice. It was rammed. Nobody asks for such cruelty to be inflicted upon them. Nobody designs their own catastrophe. You might call her self-centered, selfish, adamant, stubborn, ruthless, but that was how she had always been. She always shielded the ones she cared about, the ones whom she considered a part of herself, but when all abandoned her, it was her duty to guard what was still hers. So she locked up her mechanically beating, fist size, blood pumping organ with the glands that secreted nuisance into living beings and lost the keys forever. And yes, it was never a choice. It was forcefully expected out of her. Life compelled her to become secluded. It was schemed.
So, if you ever sense her pulses, know that she still survives, if you ever fall for her pretty face; don’t forget there’s abyss inside. And if you gaze long enough into abyss, it looks back into you.
Remember there’s no hope inside.
Warrior she had been, they said. Warrior she was, they said. But warrior still? They denied. Warriors don’t give up on the battle field, they say. Warriors don’t quit, they say. But who wanted to be a warrior anyway. She just asked for a simple, normal life, but life left her with no other choice. So she became the survivor. So she became her own savior, and made numbness her sole companion.
She tried and tried and tried and tried, until the wind blow her.
Now she lies on bed, sleep deprived. Enough said. Game Over.