It was the summer of '99 that changed the course of emotions and induced the ensuing silence.
She was a bright child, vivacious, zesty and everything nice. It was the era of grandma tales and their hidden promises, and their folklore. When innocence and truth prevailed, irrespective of the many manipulative schemes hidden from eight-year old eyes.
When touch-me-not plants held more importance in the scheme of things.
When chocolates were taken, and not a thought was spared for how they were offered.
When swaying in the air, held to life by strong, trusting arms was the lone flight of adventure taken.
When only love was understood and interpreted.
As the tiny skirt swayed with the winds of happiness, the eyes scrutinized innocence in a loathsome manner, a manner unheard of, and unseen, a manner that has absolutely no space in the scheme of things.
When the tiny feet made way amidst the tall trees that masqueraded many a hidden secrets, evil followed and decided that chastity must be enshrouded once and for all.
And as the pearl-like eyes lost themselves in the maze of the mystic hues of nature, hands made their way up, up the legs, to the apex that exposed the hidden cruelty of human existence. As innocence was silenced, in awe and bewilderment of the things done, like I said, that were unheard of and unseen, as pain slowly found itself in the reality of mazed out emotions, innocence slowly crept out.
Like incoherent ripples losing themselves underwater.
Like sand from a desperate grip.
Like life ebbing out.
Eerily, with absolute perfection.
The scheme of things were altered. Childhood was lost, and silence gripped her like the pain that returned on each one of those daunting nights that sleep was stubborn.
All that held life together now, was deep, induced pain.
All that was left of her, was her stoic existence and the same, questioning bewilderment.
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