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  • Whispers from the past: The journey of a witch

    “The Year 2019”

    “Arya found herself standing on the brink of rebellion. Consumed by her frustration which finally bubbled over. Surrounded by the relics of superstition that seemed to suffocate her, she could no longer contain her anguish.

    With a cry of defiance, Arya seized a family heirloom, a bracelet passed down through generations, and hurled it against the wall with all her might. The impact echoed through the room, breaking a tradition that bound her.

    The old lady, Arya’s mother, watched in despair as the bracelet shattered against the wall. “Please, my child, no,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with sorrow and fear of the unknown.

    But Arya’s resolve was unyielding. “Never, Mother! Never again!” she declared, her voice ringing with defiance as she stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

    As Arya departed, the old lady wept, and it seemed as if nature joined her sorrow. The fire burned brighter, thunder growled louder, rain poured heavier, and spirits murmured with heightened intensity. In the midst of it all, she vanished into the air.”

    Knock knock knock !!!

    Sara’s eyes flew open, her heart pounding in her chest. The nightmare had returned once more, as it had countless times since she turned 13. In the darkness of her mind, she could vividly picture her grandmother, though they had never met in real life. Her mother’s tales placed her in their ancestral village by the Ganga river, yet in Sara’s dreams, she always lay lifeless.

    “YOU’RE LATE FOR COLLEGE!” Arya’s voice shattered the silence, accompanied by urgent knocks on Sara’s bedroom door.
    “Yes, I’m coming, Mother,” Sara called out, her voice tinged with weariness.
    “I don’t understand what’s become of the girls these days,” Arya lamented to Varun, her husband.

    Varun, a man entrenched in the world of archaeology, prepared for his day at the office alongside Arya, his partner in both work and life. Their shared history is traced back to an archaeological survey 21 years ago, long before Sara’s birth.

    As Sara made her way through the morning routine, the weight of her recurring nightmare lingered like a heavy fog. She mechanically brushed her teeth, took a quick shower, and slipped into her outfit, all the while feeling the tendrils of fear tightening around her heart.

    Varun sat absorbed in his newspaper, regaling Sara with stories of archaeological discoveries from distant cities. Arya bustled about the kitchen, her movements a whirlwind of activity as she prepared breakfast and packed lunches.

    Sara entered the room, seeking refuge in her book and the comforting embrace of her headphones.

    “Sara, I’ve told you not to use your phone at the dining table,” Arya scolded, her voice tinged with frustration.
    “I’m just listening to podcasts Mom. Can’t I have some peace?” Sara’s words were a plea, an attempt to escape the turmoil brewing within her.

    Varun’s laughter danced on the edge of the chaos, a brief respite from the tension that threatened to suffocate them all.

    “Varun!” Arya’s voice cut through the room, her agitation reaching a boiling point.
    “I didn’t laugh,” Varun protested, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

    Before anyone could react, Sara rose from her seat, her movements suddenly unsteady. In an instant, she crumpled to the ground, her body convulsing in a terrifying seizure. Panic surged through the room, drowning out all other thoughts as Arya watched in horror, the lines between dream and reality blurring into a nightmarish haze.

    To be continued…

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  • Story

    “Hello, everyone,

    I am excited to announce that I will be writing a story, releasing it in parts every weekend.”

    Whispers from the past: The journey of a witch

  • Whispers from the past: The journey of a witch

    “The Memories”

    There I was, sprinting through the forest, desperately trying to catch my breath as I relentlessly pushed myself forward. Gripped tightly in my hand was a leather pouch, its surface slick with fresh blood. The weight of it seemed to pull at my very soul as I fled the scene of what I had done.

    Emerging from the forest clearing, I refused to slow down. Suddenly, my foot collided with a hidden stone, sending me tumbling head over heels. Despite the fall, I wasted no time in scrambling back to my feet, determination driving me onward towards the safety of my home.

    Covered in blood, some of it undoubtedly my own, I burst through the door and raced upstairs before my mother could catch sight of me. Finding refuge in the darkness of my room, I found comfort in its familiar embrace.

    With trembling hands, I lifted a tile from the floor, revealing a hidden compartment beneath my bed. Carefully tucked away the pouch, as if handling something sacred, concealing the damning evidence of my transgression.

    Stepping into the shower to cleanse myself of the stains that marred my skin, I was met with an eerie silence. But as the water began to flow, whispers seemed to echo in the confines of the bathroom. “Come on… my… girl,” the fragmented voices murmured, sending shivers down my spine.

    Unable to escape the haunting words, I stood in silence, tears mingling with the blood that stained my cheeks, a grim reminder of the darkness that lurked within me.

    To be continued.

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