She sat on the bathroom floor. Crying, and trying to stop those tears that were eating her inside. But her attempts were too feeble. The tears came, rolling hard and stubborn down her cheeks. It made her face feel hot and sticky. But she didn't care. All she wanted were for the tears to stop. She wanted the pain to go away. She didn't like feeling this way. No, 'didn't like' would be an understatement. She loathed it. This was not her. Helpless and lonely. She was a strong girl. She knew her way around and she knew what she was capable of. She knew she could take care of herself. Despite what people said, she wasn't naive and she didn't need to be shadowed and protected. It was not easy, she knew. This world is a cruel place to live in. But she could get by. She WOULD get by. She didn't need to be told otherwise.
As she sat there willing herself to stop feeling so miserable, there was a book that lay by her side. The cover had a man- no, a boy- hardly the age of 16 or 17 with a sword swung across his back. He had a black half sleeved shirt on, and while most of it was covered, the marks on his skin- pale and even- stood out like vivid scars on his arms and neck. His eyes were a mystery. Not only because they were unreadable but also because they weren't there. The cover ended a little above his nose revealing only an angular jaw, a thin but full set of lips and a few locks of his brown unsettled hair. Below, just where his torso ended, was the title of the book. She took it in her hands now and wished, not for the first time, that that boy on the cover was real. That she were a part of the world that existed within that book, rather than a part of this world that she lived in with such hurt and misery.. That she stood for something more than just what this life offered her. She wished with all her heart, that she was, like the boy on the cover, a warrior. A fighter, who was strong and independent. She was always a book lover, feeling the emotions, loving the characters devouring herself when she needed a getaway. But this book, was different. It connected with her, in ways she didn't even understand. Whenever she thought of the book, she felt happy. Content. Because no matter what, she would always have that little escape route. Even if it was for a few hours, it was there. She sat now, on that bathroom floor and clutched the book tightly to her chest. She hoped that the warm and crisp pages of the world within would give her comfort. That the smell and scent of those pages, would soothe her mind and calm her nerves.
But nothing happened. Nothing came. No peace, no comfort. And she knew it even before she acknowledged it. Nothing could come and pull her out now. Nothing could save her. This wasn't something she could escape from. No matter what, it would eventually catch up with her. Her fate was sealed. Bound by traditions and customs of the world. There was no choice. She never had one. She knew she could take on the world. But the only problem was, she would never be allowed to. She would have to carry out her duty. First as obedient daughter, now as dutiful wife.
Fairytales, she knew now, were the only ones with happy endings. She would never get that. Because she would never be allowed to fly. She would never be allowed to let her imaginations run away with the wind.
She was tied to life's cruelty. And it would never let her go. She would always be kept hidden away on a dusty shelf.
Shadowed and Protected.
