akhilavk

akhilavk

This user account status is Approved

"What? What? Why are you always picking on me? using words I don't understand? You're always putting me down. I hate this. I hate coming home to you. I think I hate you. I think I want a divorce. Do I look hallowed now?" "Harrowed. I said harrowed."

swan

I was tired of being the one who left behind. Tired of being the one everyone else laughed at. The one who was scared of mirrors. The one who stayed at home on Saturday night. Then, I killed her. Swan. And now everyone fears me.

It was all out of shape. She was supposed to get married and live happily ever after. Not sit here, day after day, wondering if she'd still be married the next morning. Wondering if today was the day her husband came home and told her he was in love with someone else. It wasn't fair. How did life get so weird? Like a pair of sunglasses you've pushed on to your head too often and knocked out of shape.

desk

The sun beat down on her. She took out her handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow. And once again cursed her stupid formative years. I could have been a contender. I could have had a nice cushy desk job. But no. I'm out here in the sun, keeping guard. God." She never saw the bullet that slammed into her forehead and pushed her body down into the shade.

Of lights. Of the smell of burning paper. Of sweets. Of something that was supposed to be the triumph of good over evil. And each year, was the triumph of peer pressure and societal norms over common sense. He sighed. He'd had to spend all his money on festival fireworks this year as well.

She snorted with laughter, too caught to care that coffee was dripping down her nose. Good fences make good neighbours indeed. Thank God for Terry Pratchett.

Her mother's bag flapped open again. She looked at it, tired of it. Tired of all the people around. Tired of all the condolences. It felt like nothing would ever be the same again. Like after a day is over, you never get that day back. She looked at people talking, about how it was such a tragedy. Such a good man. What a loss. The purse flopped open again, the folds like an accordion in the wind.

bland

That's who I'll end up with. Who I'll compromise with. If at all. Someone with no personality, no sense of humour, no charm. Who's as bland as baby food. And worse coloured. It's the biggest fear of my life. That and lizards.

I don't know which way to go anymore. I'm lost. And every single thing seems to be a mirage. Depression and anxiety are waiting in the wings. There's no way forward. There's no way back. I wonder if I should beckon to death to come get me. No one else seems to want me.

load more entries

writing since 2011 · 17 entries · 17 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Akhila showed up.

3longest streak

17days written

0.7entries / week

on this day 15 years ago

Akhila wrote about beginning
“There was the chicken. The egg. The big bang. The black hole. Love. Hate. Jealousy. They're all still around. Love and hate and jealousy are bigger now. He knew. He'd cut her wrist because of jealous…”

the words Akhila reaches for

hatetiredlovehomejealousynowanymorenighthatedbehindlatersuresighedscaredrichsense