Day 4

It was raining heavily, as though God himself was angered by the wrongdoings of humankind, as though the angels were sharing her pain. A flash of lightning lighted up the room, soon after, a loud crack of thunder shook the house.

“Noooooooo!” Another heart-wretching shriek pierced through the night but it was drowned by the angry thunders. It was filled with anguish, those screams, and laced with desperation. It sounded almost animal-like, as if she had lost the ability to think like a human.

She was alone in the mansion, accompanied by cold and lifeless Victorian furniture. A mirror stood in the reception hall, framed by intricate sculptures of roses and decorated with precious gemstones. And there she was, sitting right in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection.

A decade ago, things were very different in the mansion. It was occupied by many, and there was always someone in the hallways or in the rooms, so wherever you go, you could hear voices or laughter. Children would run across the hallways, tumbling onto each other, giggling and shouting. And the parties. Those were the highlights of the weekends, as people from around the neighbourhood would gather in this mansion to wine and dine, to converse and to dance. The music could barely be heard over the endless streams of conversation, and the mansion would always be warmed by the brightly-lit fireplace.

Now, everything is covered with a cloth and a thick layer of dust. Only memories remained in this mansion, like ghosts lingering amongst the living, seeking for redemption. And there is her, who had chosen to remain for reasons unknown even to her. She just couldn’t bear to leave everything behind. She couldn’t do it, like the others have done, she felt too attached to this mansion. Tied down by the memories that haunted her dreams, she remained because she ached for the past. She stayed because she could not see the possibilities of a better future.

Staring at her own reflection, she realised how crazy she looked. Her hair, unwashed for days, lay limply by her face. Her gaunt cheeks highlighted the dark circles that hung beneath her eyes. She hasn’t slept for days, all she did was sat in front of the mirror. Her lips, cracked and bleeding, as a result of all the lip-biting she subconsciously did whenever she took a trip down memory lane.

* * *

I couldn’t continue with it. It’s really emotionally taxing to write dark stories like this.

Happier stories tomorrow.


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