She entered the room and the thickness of the air was all she was able to take into account at that moment.
Not the blood-stained walls, nor the knee-high dust on the floor. None of this struck her, because she was used to it. She had grown up in a place where death was the only familiarity, the only regular incident. A place nobody knew better than the angel of death; your very last companion.
She had long before forgotten what it felt like to have a family, a house or simply a life. She had burried herself underneath a solemn body and a dead soul in order to stay alive until the day she was destined to follow her ancestors to the world of mystery.
But at that moment she was able to feel life run through her veins...through the smell of death. Never before had she been so close to life; the mystery that scares her more than the moment a child is born beneath the foggy sky of her country, oblivious of its destiny. It was not the fear, but the foreignness of life that creeped under her untidy shirt like a rapist who was just about to deprive his victim of her only possession; the only thing she was able to call hers; dignity.
The sound of the wind that blew through the old, squealing windows screaming for freedom interrupted her stream of thoughts. She was once again brought back to the cruel reality she was obliged to endure like a prisoner...a prisoner waiting for his death sentence.
Why wasn't she able to escape? Why didn't life ever offer her indemnity? Wasn't she even worth a compensation?
It was pointless and no longer even usual to grieve over the dead, that she knew very well by now. The devastated girl with unkempt hair therefore decided to let the air remind her of what she was stripped of; life.
Not a fairytale of carefree nights and relaxing mornings, but instead a life where there are various indications of life other than a beating heart and functioning lungs.
Not the blood-stained walls, nor the knee-high dust on the floor. None of this struck her, because she was used to it. She had grown up in a place where death was the only familiarity, the only regular incident. A place nobody knew better than the angel of death; your very last companion.
She had long before forgotten what it felt like to have a family, a house or simply a life. She had burried herself underneath a solemn body and a dead soul in order to stay alive until the day she was destined to follow her ancestors to the world of mystery.
But at that moment she was able to feel life run through her veins...through the smell of death. Never before had she been so close to life; the mystery that scares her more than the moment a child is born beneath the foggy sky of her country, oblivious of its destiny. It was not the fear, but the foreignness of life that creeped under her untidy shirt like a rapist who was just about to deprive his victim of her only possession; the only thing she was able to call hers; dignity.
The sound of the wind that blew through the old, squealing windows screaming for freedom interrupted her stream of thoughts. She was once again brought back to the cruel reality she was obliged to endure like a prisoner...a prisoner waiting for his death sentence.
Why wasn't she able to escape? Why didn't life ever offer her indemnity? Wasn't she even worth a compensation?
It was pointless and no longer even usual to grieve over the dead, that she knew very well by now. The devastated girl with unkempt hair therefore decided to let the air remind her of what she was stripped of; life.
Not a fairytale of carefree nights and relaxing mornings, but instead a life where there are various indications of life other than a beating heart and functioning lungs.
