In a world where everyone had purpose, there was a girl who was a mere shadow of the greatness around her. Whenever you found her, she was alone, silent, and writing in a little red book. No one really knew what she wrote; her pen flowed on the page with an infinite number of words. Her silence was the loudest sound in the world. It was a scream for help, a question with no answer, a built-up climax that was getting ready to explode. Days passed, and the world continued spinning with its usual rhythm of purpose and pride. People chased their dreams loudly, celebrating victories, mourning losses, living in colours so bright they almost blinded one another. Like always, she remained in the background, unnoticed, untouched, unseen.
Sometimes, a few would glance her way. They’d see the girl with the red book, sitting under staircases, by windows, or tucked into corners where light barely reached. They wondered about her, briefly. Who was she? What did she write? But their curiosity never lasted, and no one stayed long enough to ask. Her pages grew heavier with each passing day. They held stories no one would hear, feelings no one would hold, and questions no one would answer. She wrote about the noise inside her head, about the ache of existing without being known, about what it felt like to be surrounded by people yet completely alone. Each word was a quiet attempt to reach out, though no one ever reached back. There were moments, small, fragile times, when she almost spoke. When her lips parted slightly, when her eyes lingered a second too long, hoping someone might notice. But the world was always too busy, too loud, too certain of itself to hear what wasn’t said. So she wrote instead. As the ink filled every page, something inside her began to break.
The day came when her silence stopped altogether. Her last breath was a gasp of relief, and a smile ghosted her lips in the last fleeting moment. They found her corpse, and they held a funeral with flowers and people from all around the world. They came when they weren’t needed, yet they were nowhere to be found when she tried reaching out. The little red book was found, and for years, people delved into the depths of her words. Her pain was expressed from an artistic perspective. Many people tried to understand the motive behind her actions. Why didn’t she talk? The answer to this question could never be found. Then they realised she didn’t want to disappear; she wanted to be found.
2087
jimmyeatworldofficial
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ellievsbear
romaincrisis
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
stormborns
