Stories, Writing

It’s Called Exaggeration.

Nandika Bansal

4“I had frozen in trepidation. She was standing before me her dark eyes watching silently. They were hollow. The black around her eyes smudged till her eyebrows. The red around her mouth dripping till the chin though her teeth were perfectly pearly white. Her thin arms were stretched away from her waist and the same red was at her finger tips. Her condition seemed self inflicted. She was dressed in black-the delicate shreds of her dress fell to her ankles. I made a failed but brave attempt to call my mother. Her lips quivered. “Don’t you want me to kill it?” she said as I recoiled in horror.

I could hear the distant voice of my mother but could not make out her words. She heard it too. She left the room.”

I closed my sister’s diary.

“What is your sister doing?” Mom asked me.
“Dreaming,” I answered. ” She did not even wish me luck.”
“Your sister’s nuts. Go kill it! You are getting late. Go!”
I looked into the mirror to fix my hair before the performance. Boy! I’m never doing my own makeup again.

(image courtesy- google)

Published by Nandika Bansal

22 thoughts on “It’s Called Exaggeration.”

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