the short story project


Tyres that Turned it All

My hair covered my face. Made it hard to look around. Eyes struggling to save themselves from the silk. The black mesh creating it’s own patterns, unique patterns.
I stop and cover my orbs with shades. Turning the bright shiny day to a pleasant evening. A facade so strong to mirage the hot winds to warm breeze caressing me.
I hold my scarf tight, cling onto my bag and continue marching down the street whistling a random tune. *screeeeccchhh*
I pause.
*honkkkkkk honk honk*
I shift more towards my left. Giving more space to the person who supposedly can’t find enough space to drive away quietly.
*same random whistling*
Okay! This is serious now. Who the hell is this person.
*darkness all around, hospital smell, metallic taste, confined*
With a hoarse throat I try calling out for help. It was just like sandpapers peeling off the paint only if they are this rough, saliva long forgotten.
Black is all i see, deaf is all I hear, mute is all I utter, red is all I feel and white is all I believe in.
There is a rod. Something long strong, but warm. Burnt. Textured. Wet. slimy. Disgusting.
But white is all I believe in. Amen.
Rodeo, roadside rodeo.
Romeo ‘O Romeo.
I’m not thy Juliette.
I scream, it’s all in my head.
A spank and a slap. I’m wide awake.
Heavy eyelids. Pasted. I jerk off. A shock. Tingling all over.
Dripping hot wax. Cools on my rather burning rage.
Peeled off. Skin off.
I had my clothes on. Didn’t i?
White is all I believe in.
Greasy hands and muffled voices surrounding me everywhere.
It pains a bit now. I’m feeling my fingertips. I wiggle my toes. I can feel them too.
My head is still spinning.
Confined, I can’t get up.
A shout a string of profanities.
Adrenaline meets the red fluid.
I open my eyes. Tattered clothes and tattered my esteem is all I get.
Ropes marking the red, saving bits of me from them.
Hustle of life shakes me off.
I can’t live, I quit, I check it off.
I hear a soft wail calling for mumma. I cover my face and walk off.

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