Memories
Memories were hard-hearted little things. They were the jars that held our past, they captivated what we wanted to see and the stole away what we never wanted to hear. Yet memories never softened their hearts towards any human, they came softly and smoothly. And we the humans become victims to the horror exposed to us, because the memory is a weakening source, and if used correctly it could leave a person feeling vulnerable.
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Such was the fate of Khushi Singh Raizada or as the men called her 'honey one'. There was a dazed moment when she could not recall the day, minute or time. But she banked on her memories as her body was intruded on every day, she used every intrusion to count the days she was away from Arnav, and every day the mirage became weaker, fainter, slower but one memory still haunted the very depths of her dreams.
Sometimes there was more than one customer per day, and that left her disorientated, scared and vulnerable. It left her wondering, counting her fingers in the scented darkness, living those harsh memories again.
One would assume the drugs they injected into her would make them all fuzz into the background but they didn't. They emphasized the horror; they emphasized the past that was snatched from her dainty fingers. And now as she lay on the bed she touched the faint bruises marring her skin, wondering what had happened that caused all this torment?
One would assume that such memories would weaken any human but this made her stronger, she would continue to remember the good memories, one after the other, continue to live through her past and she would save the last one, the final one she had. That would be the final thrust into her, that would be the one that killed her heart but made her breath with air full of new hope.
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Oh memories. What other cruelty will you inflict upon us?
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