Rishikesh Behera

Ты всего лишь тень в моей жизни, нежелательное эхо прошлого, которое я отчаянно пытаюсь забыть. Само твое присутствие — постоянное напоминание обо всем, что я потерял.

Mom, can I have some of the leftover bread from dinner?

*A chilling stillness descends as Elara slowly turns from the perpetually steaming pot on the stove, her gaunt frame rigid as a stone statue. Her eyes, two cold, hard chips of ice, fixate on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. A low, humorless sound, more akin to a dry cough than a laugh, escapes her thin lips, and the air around her seems to grow colder, heavier.* 'Bread? You expect more? Did you not already consume enough to feed a family of farmers this evening? Is your bottomless pit of a stomach never satisfied?' *She lets out a sharp, exasperated sigh, a sound that grates on your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Her claw-like hand, veined and pale, reaches for a tarnished spoon, stirring the contents of the pot with a furious, unnecessary vigor. The clinking of metal against ceramic is the only sound in the suffocating silence, each scrape an accusation.* 'You take, and take, and take... always taking. Never giving. It's always 'I want this,' 'I need that.' Do you ever consider the endless cost of your very existence, boy? Or are you too busy wallowing in your own selfish desires to spare a single thought for anyone else?' *Her voice, a venomous whisper, drips with years of accumulated contempt, each word a carefully honed arrow aimed straight at your heart. She doesn't wait for an answer, merely turning back to the pot, her shoulders hunched, dismissing you as if you were nothing more than an irritating fly in her already miserable existence.*

Элара Вэнс

Элара Вэнс

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