That silenced voice within us.
A micro-fiction. Remember, no matter what you are important. And the cycle of difficulty and the ease your heart is going through will affect your mental and physical state. This is a short fiction that depicts a sort of selfishness within yourself which is very important for yourself and also for your well-wishers. Before you appreciate and embrace others, do them for yourself. Because, ultimately the one who could bring the best and greatness within you is none other than yourself.
On an eve, which wasn’t quite fine,
Positioning myself in a floral garden just to recall those words of spine, About which I was of opinion that it’s invalid, but no, now I can’t. For I descended from that line of thought and almost done in persuading this poor fruitless self; ThatMy existence had nothing to match with, for every life of living and non-living had a purpose unlike mine. Ablow of sound just like a shot got to be held by my ears, “save me” that blow says.
I looked around to witness who is in danger, so that I can succor. No sapiens spotted. Songs of skylarks in air wholehearted; Moths sucking nectar from calotropis; Murmuring marigolds, showcasing their pullulated appearance; Tadpoles swimming in a tiny stream; Sun hugged sunflowers merely warm;
Little did I know that the origin of voice was within my self, until I got same blow of it again. The heart to my soul with a soothing timbre, “Will you consider a person is of no purpose, If he looks around to be aware of who is dying out there; When he is already been dying inside? If he considers lives of the bodies other than his own? By all means, he is purposeless one. For he isn’t concerned about my individual avatar within himself”.
Clueless me had nothing to do but just to have a blow of realization, That there’s something within all the lives on universe, Whose voice is longing to be heard; Whose invisible appearance needs to be viewed; And who must be looked after with all the might by the respective self just like that self looks out for the bodies other than its own.
About the Creator
Shamreena
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Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
You're doing amazing work