The walls were finally closing in and there was no escape. She tried everything to make a run for it but the walls of her mind collapsed and the beautiful child died.
Standing in the midst of a thousand people this girl felt lost but it was only the beginning. She knew she’d find herself sooner or later. Carrying on with the normal everyday life she found herself in writing. A born storyteller she’d concoct different tales about people, places, lives, of ups and downs, the miracles and tragedies, of sorrow and joy, of hope, of love and she knew she truly existed. Words just seemed to flow from her pen and fill pages and pages of fiction effortlessly.
Everyone loved reading her as they liked to get lost in the stories she built but every time in the everyone there has to be an exception or two and so was in this case, the critic. For a writer a critic is very important. The feedback is a stepping stone towards better writing but what happens when the stones become boulders and form a mountain and you’re stuck behind it? She knew she was good but the constant criticism on everything she wrote got on her nerves in the beginning and then started to break her down. She wrote and wrote and the critic found flaws and disgraced her every piece for reasons unknown. When the critic wasn’t there to criticize she could hear him while writing, disgracing every mark from her pen. She’d even dream about him laughing at her in front of a large crowd while she stood alone with her head bowed down in prayer for mercy. She couldn’t comprehend the situation and started to believe that she wasn’t good enough.
The girl wasn’t just a girl; her heart was that of a beautiful child. Tender and innocent. Such harsh realities pierced it with cruel intentions and made it bleed a thousand times. The child felt unworthy. The girl was lost again. She wrote and wrote but this time there was no tale to tell just words of help and cry for inner solitude filled the pages and no one liked reading it. Too much for a girl with a sacred heart, she sat in her room trying to console herself and keep the flame of faith burning but she’d seen and heard too much and nothing seemed to help. She cried herself to sleep and woke up in misery. Tried to paint the world again with her words but black ink spilled all over the floor and she knew there was no going back.
She tried to keep her mind open to new possibilities but the candle of hope was burning no more and darkness took over control. The walls kept closing in while she tried to push them away. The battle was lost and she lifted her hands in surrender. The walls collapsed, killing the mind of the girl with a child inside.
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