“How can I rest?”
Eclipses under her weak eyes – a torn tree inside the hazel colors. The haunting clicks and echoing shots do not fade in her crown; her mind has become the king of the death.
He keeps his blind eyes closed. Along with the lonesome hums, the plucks of his hands on the mocking strings. Fright from tensing, he rocks his body – back and forth.
“Help me.” An unheard cry.
“It found its home in your head…” a quiet narration.
“Please! Tell me how I can rest!” Knees on the floor.
Silence comes. “You never can.” He resumes.
WORD COUNT: 100
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