#WritcoStoryChallenge
The painting was yellowed with rounded edges. It was a masterpiece and it was lying in my hand. Wait, have I stolen it? I don't remember...

Why am I holding it? Where is everybody? Why is it so quiet? Wait! What is this place? Where am I? Help!!! Help!!! Argghh!

I am trying to stand up but couldn't. I don't feel any pain. Worst, I don't feel my legs at all. I keep tumbling down everytime I try to push my body up. Why is this happening?

Silence.

Thinking.

No!

Am I dead? Is this how death feels like? No! I can't questioning myself again and again! No, no, no! Come on. Think! Take a deep breath and think!

Silence.

Thinking.

No!

I don't even know my name. Who am I? Again. Another question. Seriously, I am lost!

Am I listening to my voice or it's all just in my head? Am I really talking or... No! I mean YES! My lips are sealed. No wonder nobody heard me. I have no voice. I mean a voice with no sound. I mean, argghh! Useless meaning.

I think I am dead but not quite dead. I am alive but not a living human. Who exactly am I? What is this painting got to do with me? Hold on.

I heard voices coming from the painting!

What is this? 😱

TO BE CONTINUED.

#RizaMahmud
Monday, 01.04
April 6th 2020