The hopeful, loyal girl
Waited as she promised
She would.
He has forgotten her face now.
She doesn't remember anything
More than his name, anyway.
There were days when they both
Wailed in the pain of separation.
"I'll come back," he said.
"I'll wait".
Promises are mere words.
Words were forgotten.
"He is probably dead by now,"
She declares,
Clutching the collar of her cane.
They are no longer young.
She doesn't remember much
Of even the previous day, anyway.
She chants his name
As she claims her deathbed.
She remembers how he used to smell.
"Probably he just passed by," she sighs at the familiar smell.
Traces of tears on her wrinkled face.
How would he know?
He has forgotten her face.
She is dead now.
Did it matter, anyway?
It was either for the scorching sunrise that hurt her eyes or the cold breeze that blew scratching the fresh wounds on her arms, but Disha could tell that her friend had tears in her eyes for some reason or the other. “Nothing,” Razia said, when confronted by Disha, hiding her eyes as she wiped her tears with her hands. “Got paid?” Disha enquired. “Yes.” Lied Razia while walking towards the place she has been calling home from the past couple of years. She headed for the bathroom as she entered her room where two girls were sitting, one smoking a cigarette while the other wearing make-up in front of the broken mirror in the room. Razia cleaned her skirt that was smeared with her blood. She wasn’t prepared for it. After all it was that 14- year old’s first time. Not the first time that she had been “ridden” by men, nor the first time that she bled while bearing the intolerable pain the men gave her, but for the first time that she painlessly bled indicating a cycle o...
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