Tamara was alive when they buried her. She tried to resist them but like all good children she had to succumb. The pit was ready the day she was born. She was asked not to move from it. Soon they started filling it with prejudices, superstitions, accusations, beliefs, hatred, taboos, customs and what not. She wanted to scream out loud. But, good children never do that. So she just stood there until the filth outgrew her. She was just another mound of nothingness for those who never knew her.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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