Isn't hope just fleets in the air?Zip! Floats! Shatters! Scatters!
When your hope shatters, isn't it like wades of crumbled tiny sheets of paper scattered in the air, like a deflating ballon slightly whooshing, like a snippet of tail sailing the air only to diminish?
I feel like cooped up inside a confined space of vaccum, like a pillow package, you tear it, it will blow to fluff, so fluff, so light! Like there's silence filled in the air.

Hope, was spread across a wide acre of lush marsh - quite and perilous. My foot feels swamping down the land, slowly. Like someone has deliberately left my hands to drown in the muddy pools.
The hooting of the bird reminded the melancholy mystery I'd probably left behind. A fear that I might not get out of this dense forest for years.
A fear that I might remain a spinster aiding the nature living in the swampy wetlands, like those of stories I used to listen to as a child, of an adventurous spinster lady in her 60s , feign and benign!

A lady in a cloak arrested me with sticky slimes winding across my wrists, slowly spiralling up my body.
My head spined to thousands revolution per minute, and I retorted back to a large thud!


© Prerana