On Redemption

Motionless she wrapped herself in one corner of her cocoon. The sound of the fan comforted her. Her eyes arrested by the painting hanging on the opposite wall, painted in white, as if to contemplate the meaning, of the painting, of life. She couldnt look back to the grim details of her past life that she wished to bury, the present was all she had, slipping every moment in the blink of a second, every moment fell upon her like a burn from the molten wax, never to return. She couldnt even think of the future, all she had was false sympathies, a fake picture of future, a picture of the future painted in the fog, she was too afraid to wipe it off to get a clear picture, she found peace in ignorance and solace in denial. Around her was blood flowing in all the directions as if to mark the territory, unperturbed she continued to stare at the painting, a fractal of many colors intricately merging in one another to form a meaning that made sense only to the artists. Her bodily covers were torn showing a part of her bosoms, she, however, sat like a statue motionless, emotionless. Her pain made her stronger and the faded hope was liberating. She had risen above the miseries of her life, naked and unbound. She could no longer feel the horror or the fear, she did not care whether the society will accept her the way she is, she felt an aberrant strength girdling around her. Yes, she was raped. Her sacrosanct body was harmed, as the society she lived in, put it. For the family she lived in this was a matter of immense shame, the winters of grief never seemed to end for them. She was always locked inside her dim lit room, sitting on the floor on one corner staring at the opposite wall, lifeless. People came out in the streets crying for justice, talking about respect, about honour, about shame. She did not feel anything, a void in her mind would often fill the gaps in her head that needed answers, reasonable answers. She had muted the voices in her head, she wanted to erase it all and welcome the spring with open arms. She wanted to rise above the agony and the trauma that she went through and always will, at the back of her mind because the time seems to progress but the wounds remain fresh, the wounds casted on the mind do not heal, they’re just hidden by other things, they’re just ignored among other things. She unwrapped herself layer by layer to cleanse her soul as if getting rid of a dead organ, she strip her shame and laid her soul bare in her words that she befriended and let herself loose on the white leaves that hadn’t seen the daylight resembling her soul that was in the dark for too long now, too. One day, she came out in the sun to put an end to the endless nights and gleamed in glitter. She made peace with herself and the world and wrote several books as if she was born to do it, to make the world a better place to live. She lived the rest of her life in eternal peace as an example to the millions. She fought her battles like a lion and welcomed the arrival of golden era in her life, progressing from the cramped holes to the vast blue skies.