The story begins with a cold draft interwoven in the soft whispers of a hand that stutters out its first words. As the blue fingers tighten their grip, utterances solidify. They harden and sharpen as the prose is chiselled to an effigy of thought. Words rise from the depths where glistening thought bubbles fallen between cracks ambled, aloof, until the pinpricks of reality burst their taut surfaces. They form sullen puddles, deepened by barred affection and endless struggles; but smudged ink is not a weakness, it is to be treasured.
© Utsa Seth, 2020
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