The Guilty Blade: A Narrative Fiction

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The walls are closing in tightly like an unbearable box emerging smaller by the minute. The deafening silence is reverberating. My squared cell is old, rusty and empty, no feeling and no emotion. The gigantic, washed out, plain walls loom over me like a furious tiger isolating its prey. The echo of my voice is compressing between the speechless, enormous, grey painted walls. My cell is a cold, barren, frightening desert at night. These endless walls are the only barriers between me and freedom. As I am staring from the corner of my cell, the pale light is flickering while moths are surrounding it finding the only hope left in the prison. The shade of the dim light gradually enters from the tiny window which reminds me of the last day which I spend with my friends.

As I walked merrily back from my friend’s house, I noticed that heavy traffic covered all the roads. The streets were like busy bees surrounding their hive. The hooting of cars and buses boomed through my ears. The sun glowed gently over the horizon as the blast of warm breeze diffused over my body. The sun dipped through the sky as it replaced its yellow stains into black, dusky shades of ink. The crowd imperceptibly disappeared as I changed my way to the other side of the street. As the sun settled down; desolate, pure blackness began to sneak in.
The blanket of darkness positioned itself over the horizon. Blocks of huge, angry, smoky clouds emerged over the waxy sky. Silence shrieked. The moon gleamed sharply

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