Faceless Beauty

• Mouriya Senthilkumar, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2014

It's the loneliness in my heart that scares me when I try to sleep. That forthcoming darkness stretching across my feeble heart, slowly chewing away bits and pieces leaving behind something that resembles a tattered cloth. It's as though I'm buried in a deep, deep hole made customarily for me. I can see the light, it's perched right at the edge of my crescent shaped hole. Its rays taunt me as though to say it is your fault. I take no notice of this though for it has been long since I cared. Since I cared about anything at all, caring is what lured me to this hole. The way the moon curves has always intrigued me, why can it just not be pointed and sharp like the shards of glass protruding from my heart.
Though that is not the question I desperately want answered. The question I want answered hides in darkness, day and night, I'm afraid of its answer and so I never ask. I have come to the conclusion that not everything in life needs an answer, or a question as a matter of fact. We sometimes have to accept things the way they are though doing so can often be difficult.
My eyes trail yet again to the sky, speckled with droplets of milk that slowly drip down the blank, black canvas, another abyss of unpredictable darkness posed in beautiful fear. A familiar sigh emerges from the centre of my chest, it's a rock weighing down my very being. Walls plastered with stolen emotions towered around me-biscuits made from plain colourless dough awaiting my fists to come crashing upon them, waiting from me to compress them under my feet until they're back to its original state. Colourless dough.
And it's this indefinite way of life that makes me want to throw my hands around my neck, squeeze until all my frustration has been let loose, then return to treat those bruises of black and blue. Little flowers I call them, the only colour in my life that I have been given. It may sound maddening of me but with every squeeze, I just want to squeeze more. Sometimes I want nothing more than to let the dark hands of my shadow drain the essence of life from my body, my infatuation with death is something that cannot be answered. At least not by me for I fear that it may reveal so much of my secrets. Secrets that I have thrown roughly like a piece of unwanted scrap into wooden chests, locked it with a brass key, then wrapped it with bundles of chains like a blanket around a child's body on a cold winter's night.
My auburn hair frolicked around with the sudden gust of wind, a smile tiptoed itself onto my face, illuminating my insides with joy. Perhaps there's more to life than death and darkness, maybe if I looked beyond the dark side of the moon, I'd find the sun.