When his eyes met hers, he stared into them. Deeply.

Long, curly eye lashes. Big eyes. Deep brown. Beautiful.

The kohl in the sides of her eyes had smudged because of weeping. Beautiful, nevertheless.

The innocence in them, the spark in them, though wry, the pain in them, plunged a hole at the center of his heart; in a blink of an eye. 

Who says, eyes aren't a heart's a mirror? 

Who says that eyes aren't a soul's a mirror?

The ascendance of the Prince of Darkness.

Slowly and gradually, I feel my hot breath become a cloud of steam, a huge monstrous cloud. I glance down at my boiling skin. Drop by drop; I see my flesh and blood fall off my bones. In no time, I realize that I’m no more than a heap of melted flesh and broken, dissolved bones. My floating eyes look up for one last glimpse of despair as the devil’s lashing tongue laps up my remains for one last taste of victory. The world around seems to be spinning and twirling in a malicious manner, combusting from the joy of seeing another slain. With my very last cry, I wither away as darkness sets in to signal that all hope is lost.

I am gone and can not return once more.

This life is definitely not a fairy tale.

The image that you hold of somebody can never remain constant. It changes as the relationship evolves, and most of the times, it ends at a rotting note.

and THAT realization, times like those are the ones that define new boundaries of lonesomeness. 

Burning the perils of degeneration of her wisdom and sanity,
stinging apathy, the guilt and the culpability.

She leaped up high from that ash and the soot,
the dark smoke and the gigantic fire, scorching down till its root.

All meekly left behind, for the mighty phoenix had sprung up high,
leaving apart the frailty and the filth to gruesomely burn and die.

Tonight's a long night.

“Your coffin reached the monstrous hole. And a part of me went down into the muddy earth with you and lay down next to you and died with you." -Rosamund Lupton


 She lay still on her bed, trying to neutralize the thoughts that were to cloud the spaces of her mind. But soon enough, she could feel her heart race. Teardrops began to well in her eyes. She shut her eyes tightly and clutched her head between her palms. She realized, she couldn't take it any longer. She got up and punched hard against the window that opened up to an empty dark street. ​Yes, the loudest shrieks are often silenced and numbed beneath some obscure scars and blood. Her hand bled, maybe there was broken glass that had pierced her hand, too; but she didn't flinch. She simply stood there staring purposelessly at that one mangled streetlight...

Silence. The clock read 2 45 am. It was quieter than ever before and somewhere, that silence was consuming her. She lit a cigarette, smoke pluming out of her nose and mouth. She felt a bit more intoxicated. Failing to balance herself, she sat on the window pane, looking at the empty lane and then at the dark sky. 

And then all of a sudden, far away, from somewhere, she heard a woman cry. It was a loud, painful scream; lowered due to the distance from where the voice was coming. The sound was dim but it was loud enough to startle her and give her chills down the spine. She covered her ears, tears streaming down her warm cheeks; but the woman just wouldn't stop. And then, that incident flashed before her eyes. What she'd been averting since the evening, finally happened. 

Her new sedan. Alcohol. Loud music. The speed. A poor old woman crossing the road. The small boy holding her hand. The accident. Blood. Two dead bodies. Hit-and-run. She shut her eyes in a bid to drive away the memory; it seemed futile. She began trembling with fear, guilt, shame, and self loathe. But in vain. Nothing was meant to comfort her at that moment. Morally, nothing should have comforted her then. 

Well, I don't know how did that night pass.

It's morning now and everyone in the hospital is only talking about the latest case, that's being claimed as the "most exciting" and the "most mysterious" one in a very long time. A young girl's found dead in her apartment under inscrutable circumstances. The postmortem report, apparently, revealed nothing; nor did the forensics find anything around her. After several rounds of inspections, the body was finally sent to the morgue where it lay next to the corpses of an old woman and a young boy.

Maybe the world's actually a round place. 
Maybe whatever goes around, comes around.
Maybe guilt is too strong an emotion.
Maybe dying changes everything.
Maybe people are irrational.
Maybe the decisions made in the blink of a moment are almost, always wrong.