It was a dark and stormy night, just like how she felt inside. Through the window she could see the tall neem tree swaying madly in the storm. The wavering flame from the candle in her room reminded her of a drunken lad.
She made a perfect sight for a mystery painting with her hair flying high, her sharp features enhanced in the soft light. She had once been so proud of her beauty.
The storm grew wilder trying to tear away the curtain. The beast, she thought, the insatiable beast. The doors slammed. The books were thrown off the shelf as the storm tore into the silence of the night filling it with a painfully loud moaning. The candle flame’s silent protests were growing weaker. It seemed to have opted to burning itself out, a death of a different kind. Were there no other choices?
The storm wasn't going to abate. It swallowed everything on its way. The flame, struggling weakly, seemed to plead with her. The decision was hers to make. Determined, she got up and closed the window. The silence was scary. And then the room was filled with a soft light, caressing her soul with hope.
For Nithya N. from from Pune, Maharashtra, India, writing is a means of expression more than anything else. She wrote her first piece when she was in class 3. Most of her articles/poems have a personal touch. To know more visit: http://incrediblyirrational.blogspot.com
© 2007 Nithya N. Original for CCF (Nithya N. grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).
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