The Day I Drew my Heart..

"Umm...Emily? Can you see me in my office right after class?" Miss Peggy, as carefully as she had looked at the painting, added it into her file.

"Sure." I smiled and walked away, my back feeling her piercing stare.

I read somewhere: a picture says a thousand words. But a painting? I was not so sure. Until today...
Let me describe what it was in what I drew that made her feel shocked. I'll jot it down for you so it's easy to understand.

But before I start, let me tell you that we were all asked to draw a heart. Only, I made mine.

1- I drew a bright red heart. The first step was pretty easy.

2- I drew small cracks in it. Loads of em until the heart looked like a continent broken down into hundreds of countries.

3- I drew a knife with a huge blade (the kind chefs use) pointing at it and labelled it as 'relationships which failed'.

4- Followed by an arrow representing all the people who used me.

I drew and I drew until it looked a little something like this.

But it wasn't this drawing which made her pity me. In fact, I know it was the sentence I wrote at the bottom that kept her in shock:
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

And in my case, all this really did strengthen me. The heart which appears to be scattered into millions of shards is way tougher than it ever used to be. And if someone asks why I made such a sad painting, I would tell them it's because unlike them, I see happiness in it.

If only...

"If only I hadn't kept myself behind the veil of lies. If only I'd shown a clear picture of mine. If only all that I'm going through had been a dream.

It's no use. If only I'd thought of things before. If only I hadn't underestimated the frailty of the bonds made of lies, things would've have been the way they are now. I wouldn't have felt as alone as an island would in the ocean.

Everything happened in seconds. I lied. Then the truth revealed itself. And it all fell apart. I didn't regret it at first. But now I do. Partly because it didn't work out for us. And partly because...

oh if only, for once, I'd believed in the fairness of this world. Life is never fair to us. Because we are too weak to accept our mistakes. And so was I. But now I got to know...and that too the hard way.

I regret the mistakes as much as I wanted to kill you in the beginning. Your existence was my weakness. It's funny how I want your forgiveness as badly as I intended for lying. I don't know if you would've been too strong to forgive if you'd been with me. 

Oh if only I knew...

I want to be with you but bringing you back is beyond my abilities. And coming for you is something my mind doesn't perceive. 

Yes. I'm still sane. And incomplete. It all happened when I was driving home. And as soon as the contentedness seemed to overwhelm me, I blacked out. 

Any loved one would've fainted after hours of crying. But here I am, with nothing to give you after all that that has happened. 

Not even tears. 

I'm just too shocked too cry. I hope you understand. I know it's all my fault. I hope you forgive me. If only you could tell me that.

Your step sister, 

Cathy"

She silently placed the note on her sister's grave, prayed for God's forgiveness and rolled her wheelchair away with the one arm she had left.

Robbing the Confidence #metoo

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She dropped her pen and looked up in fear. Her hands shivered. Her teeth chattered. She held the table tightly, leaving sweaty fingerprints on it.

The steps got louder. And louder. She sunk in her chair. And the door opened...

"Hello there Miss Everdeen!" she looked at his eyes which gleamed with what she could perceive as malice. She figured out that he could sense her fear by the evident smirk on his face after watching her curl up in a ball.

He came closer and closer. She slipped her hand into the drawer and blindly fished for a knife. Anytime now...

He sighed and let out a chuckle, "Don't worry. Now isn't the time. Please take these files for me now will you?," and his face transformed back into that of a busy businessman and he stormed away.

Rachel heaved a sigh of relief. Her helplessness had forced her into this black hole of Hell. It had been six months but everytime she would see him, images of him torturing and abusing her would click in her mind. Making room for apprehension in which it would settle for long periods of time.

To others, he was just Catherine's boss. But to her, he was monster she hated to depend on.

The anxiety which would only partially leave when squeezed out of her eyes with tears. Sometimes she doubted her feelings. She still didn't know if it was the realization of her helplessness, the fear of further harassment or the ordinariness in his behavior after such a heinous act.

As the mountain of feelings got bigger and bigger, a tear finally rolled down her cheek. But the wall of helplessness didn't move an inch. Like always.

Tears: Evidence of a Crime

This is a story of every person out there who is made fun of. It highlights how people who are ridiculed for crying, hide their emotions.

She let out a sob. And another one. 

And as quickly as lightening, she covered her mouth with the helm of her skirt. She cursed the hiccoughs which escaped her mouth. She loathed the streams of tears blackened by the mascara which stained her face.

She wished she hadn't locked herself up in there. The close walls amplified her voice. Any ear sticking against the door could hear the sound of her misery.

"Alice! I need to use the loo. And everyone's waiting for you outside. What are you doing in there?"

The redness of the eyes wasn't ready to leave at that instant. Especially with the amount of tears she had squeezed out of them. But the urgency of the moment had her brainstorming with anxiety.

And just to buy time, she struggled with a quivering voice. Yes I know. Give me five minutes.

As she heard sound of the footsteps diminish, she heaved a sigh of relief: her cousin hadn't known.

She could make a great actress. Such an irrelevant thought crossing her mind made her giggle. 

And soon, with the blotches of black on her face washed and the redness in her eyes melting away, she finally stepped outside. She never told her cousin what kept her in there for so long. And Alice prayed that she never asked too. 

She was sick of being surrounded by people who didn't value her tears. And most of all, she was sick of having the same words being yelled at her: Only the weak cry.