A Forlorn Escape from the Yesterdays

“What time of the day is it?” Her frail mumble echoed nowhere in the abandoned room. She brushed the messy hair from her face, staring into the pitch darkness that offered no sign of escape. As she fumbled for her phone, she knocked over the leftover sip of vodka from the day before. When she finally managed to fetch her phone, it was long dead. Her migraine was paralyzing. Passing out after that extra drink wasn't unexpected, but a whole day’s sleep had dehydrated her soul. She struggled to rise from the floor but failed. “He was right. Covering the window panes with paper has nothing to do with shutting people out of your life,” she smirked. “Saying that he was gone forever. He wasn't just my husband; he was the only one I was in contact with.” After many failed attempts, she finally grabbed her drawing stand and stood up. She moved the black curtains, only to reveal the plastered windows that looked like someone’s failed attempt to fix her shattered life with broken pieces of advice. The eeriness born out of her imperfection saw a ray of light leaking through the uneven patch on the window panes. “I don’t want to live with anyone. I don’t want to marry!” She could see herself screaming at her parents a year ago but was forced to marry Sandeep. Now, they were all gone, leaving behind her and her innate notion to shut people out of her life. She switched on the lights. The yellow rays fell bluntly over the half-eaten food ordered a few days ago, the broken glass and the spilt vodka, an unwashed plate, and some forbidden pieces of art. The massive incomplete canvas, half-painted red, disturbed her. She searched for the leftover paint but realized it had all dried up. She dragged herself into the balcony where the bright light pestered her for a while. She ran her fingers over the dusty rails, disturbed, and caught sight of a shawl lying on her balcony. “Must have flown from the top floor!” She slowly picked it up, brought it close to her nose, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Ahhh! Human smell!” The uncle in the opposite flat still hadn’t given up. With his lit cigar, his whistle was a clear hook-up call, but she ignored it. Suddenly, her heartbeat quickened at the sight of the trash van. She was nervous. She watched them load the saggy black sack into the van. “It was as thick as I wanted,” she recalled the smell of Sandeep’s blood. “But the canvas is still incomplete,” she murmured. The whistle from the other side was strong enough to interrupt her from caressing the abandoned cactus. She decided to give a cold-blooded smile this time, wondering if it would be "red and thick" enough to complete her canvas.