A Thousand and One Stories #15 Dead Girl crying

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There was once a dead girl who just wouldn’t stop crying.
She screeched and bawled and made tiny baby noise from her throat and she would choke on her own saliva when her tongue would roll up in her mouth. But she had to cry it out, that was all she could do. For even choked and in pain, she couldn’t die again.
There was no one to hear her cries. No one to pick her up. She had never received the gentle cradling of a babe in mum’s arms. She was lying on the floor being trampled upon. The pain, only thing she could actually feel. Nor the gentle licking of a stray dog or the touch of the gutter fleas.
There was a woman who held a doll in her hands as real as a newborn girl. She fed it milk, rocked it to sleep and got worried when it wouldn’t breathe.
She would fight and yell and almost kill herself on nights the nightmares got real. But the doll in the crib, lying silent, ever still, gave her the will to live.
There was a man stuck in between, neither alive nor dead. He had lost a hand, was always short of breath and didn’t sleep but fell into comas.
The unconscious him would ghostwalk in and out of reality.
He saw the unfulfilled motherhood of a woman and the shilling cries of a dead baby.
A barrier that must never be crossed was erected, tied to his endurance. Each time a person put a hole in the barrier, the man would lose part of himself. But there was so much, even he couldn’t do. Couldn’t kill the living mother, give the dead girl a life anew.
But he pulled both their consciousness in the in-between as they slept. The dead girl rarely giving it up, the mother already mentally half dead.
That morning when he woke up with no eyes, he was confused if he was still alive. Unconscious but conscious, stuck in the darkness?
The voices he heard, were those people alive or dead?
The skin he felt, for sure it was his. But was it the body he wore in the real world or was it the skin of in-between?
Forever stuck in not knowing the truth, neither alive nor dead, now a little more short of breath, all he could hear sometimes was cheerful glees of a young infant that reached her mind.
From far away, he could still hear, a gentle lullaby sang by a mother…for her baby’s ears.

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Meet the person who inspired these Vardhan Chronicles @SidharthVardhan

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