|
By Halima
“ It is not my fault,” he bellowed seeing the gruesome sight. He wept inconsolably. His adroit hands were enveloped with crimson blood. |
|
He merely desiderated to protect his inestimable daughter from his past solemn follies. “ It is not my fault,” he repeated incessantly as his beloved daughter’s cadaverous body was being whisked away.
Meera sauntered frantically towards her attic to find something for her project . She didn’t know that she was going to learn about the acrimonious truth of her father. While she was rummaging for something, she discovered an old vintage box which had her father’s initial carved on it. The box was locked. She attempted to open the lock with umpteen keys but couldn’t open it. Then she thought of trying the key her father wears on his wrist. She sneaked into his room and took his key bracelet discreetly while her father was as busy as a beaver cooking scrumptious food. She darted towards the attic and tried the key. The box opened. When she opened the box completely, she discerned that there were a myriad of articles cut out dexterously. She picked up one article and read that her father’s name was printed in capital letters. When she read , she discovered that her father was a nefarious burglar. He had burgled several banks and in all other articles something or the other repulsive was written about her father. She was paralyzed with consternation. Umpteen questions raced across her mind.She darted downstairs with vexation mounting within her. She went to her father and interrogated him. “Why did you lie ?” she said indignantly. Her petrified father said, “Calm down” A febrile tear rolled down her father’s face and he said , “Yes, I was a burglar.” She could not digest the harsh reality and dashed out of the house. She didn’t see a truck moving expeditiously as her eyes were overwhelmed with febrile tears. The truck rammed into her and she perished with her last words , “ Papa !” hanging in the air.
Meera sauntered frantically towards her attic to find something for her project . She didn’t know that she was going to learn about the acrimonious truth of her father. While she was rummaging for something, she discovered an old vintage box which had her father’s initial carved on it. The box was locked. She attempted to open the lock with umpteen keys but couldn’t open it. Then she thought of trying the key her father wears on his wrist. She sneaked into his room and took his key bracelet discreetly while her father was as busy as a beaver cooking scrumptious food. She darted towards the attic and tried the key. The box opened. When she opened the box completely, she discerned that there were a myriad of articles cut out dexterously. She picked up one article and read that her father’s name was printed in capital letters. When she read , she discovered that her father was a nefarious burglar. He had burgled several banks and in all other articles something or the other repulsive was written about her father. She was paralyzed with consternation. Umpteen questions raced across her mind.She darted downstairs with vexation mounting within her. She went to her father and interrogated him. “Why did you lie ?” she said indignantly. Her petrified father said, “Calm down” A febrile tear rolled down her father’s face and he said , “Yes, I was a burglar.” She could not digest the harsh reality and dashed out of the house. She didn’t see a truck moving expeditiously as her eyes were overwhelmed with febrile tears. The truck rammed into her and she perished with her last words , “ Papa !” hanging in the air.