Thursday, 15 August 2013

Flash Fiction 2013 Longlist, Romila Chitturi

The Silence

Jesus, it harms a lot!!  Akin to smashing repetitively beside a barbed wall there were hurts and pains no matter which way I turned.

Sheltered in a deep dark prison which I shaped out of these conditions, I was lost and awfully stuck. Would that be expressed? Devoid of danger of burial, how could I? Stretched out on a treatment sofa or safe in a confessional stall, clarify how I could be resigned to whatever this was?

Do not recall all that, because whatever I am now is kaput. And not broken, with a hairline or split – this is compressed. Irreversible and not fatal! So living meant living with it. Being myself without fading or altering, as I believed change meant to answer questions – why, how, what and wherefore of the ladder leading to the darkness.

And that brings things to a full circle because it’s apparent that elucidation was out of the enquiry.

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