 |  | Winning a Losing Battle |
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“You win.” She replies, her mask is wearing down, the cracks starts to get wider and her eyes seem so dull”¦ so tired”¦ essentially dead. She has given up, the other one wins, it didn’t matter to the girl anyway, because she was alone even if she did win. She knew from the beginning that she would lose, because that was in her nature, that was ‘Gods will’, it was destined from her birth day, that she would be the rug everyone stepped on and she wouldn’t mind, but accept. She would only keep redrawing the smile on her mask and hope that the small cracks could be painted over with white, false deception. ‘Let her hope,’ they say, ‘let her dream,’ they mock, ‘let her pretend to live the life that others would, because she will in the end grow used to it, and become the shell she really is.’ It was destined. From the moment the stars were aligned, the rain poured and the Moon glowered with its morose sadness. The girl praised herself though, because she did fight, even if she lost, she considered it a winning, a way to perhaps grow stronger, even if her loneliness would get the better of her. And the Gods, destiny and Moon shook with anger, for the girl did not do what she was supposed to, but went beyond the picture, instead of painting between the lines. She wanted to be free from her curse, and take off the mask to reveal the little baby that was hidden underneath. The small pure being that was left of her, the only light thing, instead of all the dark cracks, blue tears and red, oh so red stripes coloring her entire body, except one place. “My heart,” the girl cried, “is the only place that they never reached. The one place they never came. The one thing they never destroyed.” And the girl was thankful for this, because even after all this time, where she was treated as nothing, she relied on her heart, to keep fighting, to keep going. Except the Gods, destiny and the Moon knew how to take that away, and it would be only a matter of time. “You win.” The girl”¦ no woman, she was older, battleworn, she was oh so very tired, rasps, her dying gasp is the only sound that can be heard in her lonely white room. Her dark hair is splayed over her pillow and her tears stains the blue sheets, and her eyes so red from the crying. She gives up, for the very thing she tried to protect, was taken from her used, stepped on and thrown away like trash, the trash that she was used to be called, she throws away everything she fought for, just to get the peace she felt, that she deserved. The woman closed her eyes. And the Gods, destiny and the Moon, laughed. | ||||||||||||||
 | haleløs | 2012-05-01 22:27:39 |
heeej; du har et nydeligt engelsk! JEG synes, teksten her savner noget 'show it; dont tell it' ; prøv at læse 'Pølsemanden' af Ester Jensen (som er på din alder). Brug søgefeltet ø.th.
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