She was bruised.

“You have come so late. Where have you been?”

She silently drifted towards her room without answering and latched the door. And there she fell at that very position on her knees and the tears welled up in her eyes. Her mouth gaped open and a muffled voice of shock escaped her mouth. She bit on the curtain so as to prevent her wail be heard by anyone.

She was retching. She ran towards the washroom while bile rose up in the back of her mouth and she puked her miseries out.

She couldn’t believe what had happened with her.

“It is my fault.” She wiped away what was left of her mascara and lipstick and rubbed her papery white skin. The tears had dried out. She clawed at her face.

“It is my fault.” She faced the mirror.

“I am bruised and it is my fault.”

* Written in response of VisDare 27.


14 thoughts on “Bruised

  1. TheImaginator says:

    I agree with the Real Cie; victims often feel dirty and like it’s their fault. Good use of the photo.


    • Thank you. She is alone and hence she blames herself in order to get a reason behind the tragedy. I felt her pain all over again by your words..

      It is really extraordinary how we feel connected to our characters..


  2. oooh i’d love for this to continue – questions upon questions… they let the mind wander. great take on the prompt, love how you use the reader’s imagination to extend the storyline…


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