Posted in Stories and Poems

An escape into dreams

It’s one of those times when you decide that you’re finally gonna do it. You’re gonna write it all down, all your thoughts and feelings, all the pent-up emotion that’s simmering just inside you, everything that’s going on in that freaking head of yours. It doesn’t matter if it turns out good or bad. What matters is that you’re willing to do it. Not to show it to anyone, just to read it yourself, and maybe feel relief when it helps you to figure out your own heart.

And well, you can’t deny that there’s always a possibility that it turns out just good enough for you to post it on your social media passing it off as “poignant fiction written on a blue day”.

So you do what? You take a pen and a piece of paper, make sure the rifle is working, take a deep breath, and start writing…

Only to realize that you just can’t do it.

It’s okay though. You’re probably still in a slump. It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened- you trying to write something only to not know where to begin.

Maybe you’re just tired, burned out with all the assignments and projects you have to do every day that you are barely able to cope with yet still somehow don’t care about one way or another. Maybe, as people say, the time isn’t right. You’ll probably try some other day, in a better mood perhaps.

Or maybe it’s one of those times when you realize that some things are better left unsaid, one of those times when the thought of seeing those words on a paper terrifies you more than the fear of what might happen if you let them choke you from within, one of those times when pushing something deep down seems a much easier option than letting it out.

Maybe, deep down, you know that it’s just too hard.

So, you put the pen down, tear the barely filled page from your diary, crumple it in your fist, and hurl it at the wall. Then, you slump against the headrest of your bed and close your eyes, breathing heavily. All of a sudden you feel this huge, terrible ache in your whole body, your mind, and you know it’s nowhere related to physical exhaustion. You feel tired. So so tired. Too tired to brush your teeth even, or switch off the lights. And before you realize it, your damp eyes shut on their own, and sleep, mercifully, puts an end to your train of thoughts.

You wake up the next day, not remembering for a moment how you slept in the first place, your untouched glass of milk still lying on the bedside table, cold now, sweat sticking your hair to your neck because you forgot to turn on the AC.

But at first, you don’t notice all this. You don’t look around so you don’t see what’s wrong, or think about all the homework pending, the open books lying on your study table. You don’t notice all the heat and all the bright light. For it’s that blissful moment when you’re barely conscious, your mind teetering somewhere between dream and reality. Your eyes are half closed and at that moment, it’s easy to forget everything, to ignore the sound of somebody shouting in the kitchen, the nagging of your brain as it tries to remind you, “wake up, it’s getting late!” It’s easy to shut it all out and focus instead on the sounds of daily morning traffic drifting up through your balcony, or the dream you just had…what was it again? Something about books and space and time travel, and the possibility of a bigger world, and at this moment, you can still trick your brain into believing that it’s all real.

But you know that if you open your eyes, it’ll all be gone. It’ll vanish, just like that.

So, you don’t. You lie there, a half smile forming on your lips.

But the sounds from the kitchen are getting louder, the light coming from your window becoming too harsh, the nagging in your brain becoming more insistent. And before you know it, you’re blinking rapidly, holding up a hand to your eyes to block out the sun.

It’s a new day. A new beginning. Yet your diary still lies untouched beside you, and your homework is still pending. Your heart still feels heavy with the things you’ll never say. You glance at the clock- 10:30 am. This would be the time to fling yourself out of bed, rush to the bathroom, take a quick bath and start finishing up all your work, while at the same time trying to get a few slices of bread in your roaring stomach.

As the heavy reality of all this starts sinking in, another thought enters your head- It’s Saturday… And you only get a weekend once a week… And it’s only 10:30 am… And studies and life can wait another hour but sleep…aah, there was just something so sweet about that dream you just had, it even had robots and cyborgs!

So, instead of getting up, you groan, grab a pillow and shove it on top of your eyes to block out the light, stretch a hand towards the remote to turn on the AC, and fall right back into bed, into dreams of androids and books, and a life that is worth dying for.

Or, in this case, sleeping for.

~Nehal


Posted in Stories and Poems

The Wrong Murder

A walk in the woods helps me relax and release tension. The fact that I’m dragging a body behind me should be irrelevant.

It’s been a week since I found something this good. The moment I saw the poorly dressed, disheveled beggar lift his large, coin-like eyes towards a man on the street, in an attempt to get his pity, I knew I had found gold. It was perfect. The ring was glistening on his finger, drawing me in.

Murdering him had been easy. All I had to do was give him a little sweet taped to the usual charity. As is the case with beggars, he had been starving enough to not bother to question the generosity. The sweet was slow to effect. It was only by midnight that he finally passed into a dreamless sleep from which he would never wake. The street was, predictably, empty when I went to retrieve the body.

Now I drag him behind me, panting a little from the effort but still humming under my breath as the light breeze ruffles my hair. His hands are cuffed as I pull him along. Now and then the sound of his clothes ripping against the uneven ground reaches my ears. Zar would be pleased. I expect to be rewarded after such tremendous success. Maybe a change of clothes? Or is that too much to hope for?

No sooner do I think this than I hear a swooshing noise from behind me. I halt, swallowing.

“Wrong body.”

Dread seeps into my body, rooting me to the ground. I turn around and come face to face with Zar.

His whole body is covered in a black shroud of mist, unwavering. As always, nothing of his body or features is visible due to the black mist enveloping him. The wind stills. His presence is so chilling it seems the forest’s temperature has dropped by a few degrees.

“What?” I squeak.

“He doesn’t have the ring on him,” Zar says. His voice is all honey. Magical and wonderful, so enchanting you might as well drown in it if you don’t know the sweet poison that’s hidden underneath the layers. “Or the knife.”

My eyes widen. I take a step back. Zar never speaks false. But I was sure there was a ring! I glance down at the cuffed hands I’m clenching and almost trip at the horror that clamps my veins at what I see.

This can’t be happening. No no no no no! I frantically release the body and turn it over. I grab at the filth-stained clothes, groping for the ring that I was sure he had on his finger. But there’s nothing there. Terror grits by bones and my hands scramble to find hold of something else, anything to prove that today hasn’t been an utter failure.

A scream rips through me as I realize there’s nothing on it. I release the body and crumble on the ground, shaking. No! What did I do!?

“You have failed,” Zar hisses.

“N—no,” I whisper. “Please.”

“This is the second time.” The still mist around him starts to swirl slowly, the way it does when he’s mad. Without making any sound, his form comes forward, till he’s only a few inches away from me. My breath catches in my throat. I attempt to stand up but his hand, cold and hard as iron grabs my shoulder and shoves me back to the ground. I struggle, attempting to break free of his grip but I might as well be fighting a stone wall.

All around me I hear eerie, whistling noises, like the wind rustling against the trees, except the sound is so deadly I’m sure it’s not the wind. I look up to see the whole forest swirling around me, the trees all seem to be drawing closer, their long, slender branches waving madly. Zar’s one hand is outstretched towards the heavens, and I know he’s the one controlling the woods. When he speaks again, his voice is deadly.

“You know what happens to those who don’t do what I say?”

Without warning, searing pain shoots through my chest. I gasp as I feel biting cold air seep into my body through my mouth, all the way into my lungs, freezing every atom. My chest constricts, my whole body convulsing. Zar releases his grip on me, and I fall face-first to the ground at his feet. There’s no air inside of my body. Any second now I’ll be gone, just like every other fool like me whom Zar has snuffed the life out of when they dared to make a mistake. The noises from the trees grow louder and louder till I feel like they’re upon me, swallowing me whole. I feel like I’m choking. I thrash wildly, clawing madly at the ground, trying to break free of Zar’s spell…

“I think that’s enough.”

Almost as soon as it began, it stops. The wind dies out and the hustle of the trees ceases. The biting chill leaves my bones. My breathing, though still restricted, evens out slowly. The forest is once again quiet. The only sound left now is that of my rattling breaths.

And then I start to sob. I taste mud as I cry hysterically into the ground, my fingernails gripping the soil as if I’ll fall if I let go.

“Why?” I manage to croak. It’s a pain to speak. “Why would you d—do this to me? I’m the only servant you have.”

I don’t dare look up. I hear his voice as if from far, far away.

“Be careful. Or your incompetence might one day be the death of you.”

I don’t hear him walking away. I just hear the rustle of the branches as they make way for him until I know he’s gone. I’m still lying listlessly on the dark ground after he’s walked away, gasping, shaken from my near-death encounter, my entire body hurting, my unanswered question still swirling in my head, hanging in the chill night air.

~Nehal


Inspired by a prompt I found on Pinterest- write a story that begins with, “A walk in the woods helps me relax and release tension. The fact that I’m dragging a body behind me should be irrelevant.”

If any of you are writers, go ahead and give this a shot. I found it interesting. Also let me know how you liked my story, in the comments!

Posted in Stories and Poems

Misted away

It’s night, and I’m standing alone in the dark. The fog curls around the air, getting thicker and thicker by the moment, till it’s hard to see. I glance behind me and I see mist, so dense that it feels dangerously magical.

I run!

I scramble blindly through the trees, not allowing myself to stop. I know nothing except for the fact that my life depends upon me running away from this…this nothingness, this emptiness. This feeling that I never felt before. This feeling that I’ve never allowed myself to give in to. But every step I take only seems to draw it closer and closer till the dark is a pale silver, shrouded with this strange fog.

And there’s only so long a person can run. Soon, my legs give way. I stumble, screaming, almost falling into the abyss, holding on to the ground, trying desperately not to let go.

I can’t help it anymore. The cold is upon me. I can’t stop the mist from enveloping me. At first its cold is an embrace to my pain. But then it freezes my heart. And I can’t breathe. I feel my fingers slipping away, one, two three, until I’m holding on to life with just a thumb. I howl with desperation, flailing, trying to lift myself.

But the fog has turned to ice now. And it’s in my hands, my lungs, my heart. It’s everywhere. And it’s choking me. And I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

So, I stop thrashing, and I let go.

I feel my body floating down, as if in slow motion. I feel my eyes closing as a tear slips down my eye and freezes with the ice in my cheeks. I’m drifting farther and farther away from the mercy of the one thing I had believed in my whole life, the one thing that I was never able to let go, no matter how hard things were.

Hope.

I had held on to it even as despair had clutched me, even as it had stabbed me in the heart, over and over. Hope was the one thing I had held on to with dear life, my one last belief, the tiny ray of sunshine in this miserable life that had helped me get up every single day, because I had hoped!

Until I realized that I didn’t want to hope anymore, that it was just too painful. And slowly this despair and this fear had turned to anguish, and I felt that last thread slipping past my fingers.

And now it’s gone. And I’m alone, falling into this dark, empty void, deeper…and deeper.


This was inspired by a prompt I read in a blog once- imagine yourself in a situation where you never want to be, or something like that, I guess. And for me one of the scariest things in my life would be if I stopped having hope when it comes to life. So, I wrote this. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know in the comments!

Posted in Stories and Poems

Not my battle…

Running, shivering, panting, I chased you. You were my last battle. I came to you, crawling, did everything I could to have you. Only now do I realize that I destroyed myself in fighting for you.

For ’twas not my battle to fight. Loss or victory? I got neither. You were someone else’s, already fought for, already won. And all I was doing was trying to hold on
to a broken string. I was a house made of glass, I broke when I was invincible, broke after having hurt everything in my path. You didn’t break me by throwing stones, you broke me after adorning me with flowers.

Now I’m shattered, my heart doesn’t thud. Every day is longer than the last. Every second alone is a reminder of what I could never have. I’m trying to swim my way out of this black hole, trying to find solace in the fact that you’re with someone you want. But it still hurts. If only I could rewind all this, go back in time and change it…

Except I know I wouldn’t be able to do it, even if I could. Wouldn’t be able to stop myself from loving you, even if I knew it would hurt.

~Nehal


Posted in Stories and Poems

Look at me, I’ve changed

From the girl who used to laugh at her own lame joke,
To the girl who now gives only a vacant smile when told one,
I’ve changed.

From the girl whose presence seemed to light up the mood,
To the girl who now wants to hide to avoid being ignored,
I’ve changed.

From the girl who was sure nothing mattered more than her family,
To the girl whose reckless words now cause them pain every day,
I’ve changed.

From the girl who couldn’t understand how somebody could be “depressed”,
To the girl who now feels like she’s engulfed in a bubble of darkness,
I’ve changed.

From the girl who couldn’t ever hide her worries from her mother,
To the girl who has now learnt to cry herself to sleep,
I’ve changed.

Oh, how I’ve changed.

~Nehal


Bwahaha. Totally lost all ability to write something happy. This is just fiction, as always. I’m just living a life right now and having fun here and there lol 😛. Lemme know how you liked it!

Posted in Stories and Poems

See you again…

It’s been a long day,
And it never seems to end,
When will you be back?

Don’t you feel the same?
Don’t you want to come back too?
Don’t you want me too?

I want not more than
A glimpse, perhaps a whisper,
Of my name, from you.

But something tells me
That you’ve moved on, left me here,
Alone and broken.

All I’m doing now
Is trying to be okay,
But my heart’s a mess.

I miss you, and yet,
I’m glad you’re happier now.
Glad for your success.

I’ll be okay too,
Not now, but some other day.
And I’ll still love you.

I wish you good luck,
I hope we cross paths again,
Hope it’s not the end…

~Nehal


This was my first ever attempt at a haiku, and I wrote an entire poem using them 😂. I hope I didn’t do any mistakes though, lol. I’m so glad to finally have written a haiku(s). Hope you liked the poem. I personally found it awful but I don’t have anything else to post anyways so well. All criticism and feedback are more than welcome!

Posted in Stories and Poems

When You’re Scared, What Do You Feel?

When you’re scared, what do you feel?

Do you feel your teeth chatter involuntarily?
Or do you feel sweat stroking your forehead?

Do you feel alert and quick to react?
Or do you feel slow due to the heavy weight in your stomach?

Do you feel like you need the presence of someone?
Or do you feel like making solitude a companion?

Do you feel like you need to indulge in something that you love?
Or do you feel like nothing you do can make you feel better?

Do you feel like you momentarily stop breathing?
Or do you feel yourself registering your short, sharp breaths?

Do you feel yourself inclined to scream in terror?
Or do you feel too terrified to issue any sound?

Do you feel yourself tremble ceaselessly?
Or do you feel petrified, frozen, like you can’t even move a muscle?

When you’re scared, what do you feel?

~Nehal


This poem was my way of depicting how a person can feel two completely different emotions, at the same time, when they are scared. Though there are other ways to interpret it too. I hope you liked it. Let me know what you thought of it in the comments 😄.

Posted in Stories and Poems

Lost Innocence

An anxious crowd is gathered around the thickly covered body of a really familiar looking man. Nothing of his body is visible except his face which is devoid of emotion. He appears to be fast asleep. Beside him, hunching on the floor, is my mum, one of my aunts, and my Nani (my maternal grandma). The three of them are wailing and weeping, sobbing so hard they might never be able to stop. I am not allowed to go near them. All I know is that something isn’t right.

The people in the crowd may not have been there for all I know. It’s like all life exists in those three grief-stricken women. None of the onlookers are doing anything to calm their shaking bodies. I see brine glistening in many eyes. I cannot avert my gaze from the man in the midst of it all, lying there tightly bound, not moving. He looks really calm like he doesn’t care about the various people who are coming and gently stroking his face.

I walk away from them all, far back from it where my grandpa is sitting on a chair, looking just as sane as ever, just as calm. He takes me in his arms when I arrive.

“Who is that man, Baba?” I ask him.

He peers at me from behind his spectacles, and explains briefly, “He is your Nana Ji.”

“My Nana Ji?” I repeat. No wonder he looked so familiar.

“Yes,” he says. “Don’t you see?”

“Why is he lying like that, then. Why isn’t he moving?”

“He won’t move anymore,” Baba says.

“Why not?”

“His time in this world has ended. He will live with God now. He won’t live in this world anymore. He will live above,” he says, pointing up. “God has taken him.”

“What do you mean, Baba?”

“Everyone comes to live on this earth for a specific time. His time has ended, so he will not live here anymore.”

“But why isn’t he moving?”

“He can’t breathe. So, he can’t move.”

“You mean he is not breathing?” I say with wide eyes.

“He is dead, Vani. He will not breathe, not ever again.”

“You cannot breathe when you die?” I say, now no longer in his arms.

“Never,” he says.

“But how could he live without breathing!?”

“He cannot, that’s why he is dead. He has lived with us. Now, he will live with God.”

I don’t speak for a while so he turns his attention back to the crowd.

“Baba?” I say then.

“Hmm.”

“Why does he have to die?”

“He can’t live forever, none of us do. Everyone will die in the end. God will take all of us in the end.”

“Everyone?” I say, my breathing becoming rapid.

“Yes.” That’s all he says.

One of the people I loved the most in the whole wide world had just planted in me the seed of explanation of something that would grow swiftly and would haunt me for a really long time. I walk away, unable to get it all. My six-year-old brain failing to comprehend it all. I didn’t understand it. Not then.

Eight Years Later:

I break down in the back seat of the car. The stress of the day has been too much for me and I can’t take it anymore. I don’t even try to hide my tears so our driver sees me and exclaims, “Vani, why are you crying!?”

I can’t answer because what is there to say.

“Vani, why are you…tell me!” he says again, sounding astonished.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I manage to say. “It’s such a stressful environment. The whole day has just been…” I falter.

“He’ll be alright,” he says, finally understanding. “You are such a wise girl, why should you cry?”

He calls my father then and tells me that he will meet me on the way. We stop at Synergy Hospital, I don’t go inside. My father appears then. He doesn’t look tensed, just a little preoccupied.

They both watch me, and my dad talks about stuff that I feel doesn’t matter anymore, like what did I do at my friend’s house, how was my day. There are more things to worry about. I speak less, it’s hard to speak openly when my insides are closing with refrain from showing my emotions. I finally say, but it comes out more like a croak, “Papa, will Baba be alright?”

“Yes, of course,” is his instant response. He goes on to explain just how better his condition has gotten, and just like that, I feel better talking to him, hearing him speak with that tone of his that could never suggest anything but the best. Yet when the car moves on and I am back in the company of my own thoughts, I can’t shake off the feeling that all won’t be alright.

I understand now, all of it, more than I ever want to. And, in a sense, I wish I didn’t.

~Nehal


Posted in Stories and Poems

A Letter From Your English Teacher

I have only one thing to say to thee, thou must learn the art of porper puntcuatoin, and grammar skilis. From who” thou asketh; It’s me 🙂. 

Dear students,

It was good to hear from you, thanks for writing to me you totally did not write to me but okay 🙂. I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and spirits, as is the most boring way to start any letter, as any experienced English teacher cough me cough cough might tell you.

I am writing this letter because there is something that struck my pensive mind the other day when I was gazing passively at the stars, reminiscing the golden years I spent as a youth, and as I pondered about the wonderous aspects of life as we see it now, I realized that I might as well share my advanced knowledge to delinquent students, such as yourselves.

And I don’t mean to offend you in any possible way, no, not at all…😇. I’m merely concerned about the fact that what if something were to happen to me this day? Or say tomorrow or the day after that? Who would tell you about the impeccably invaluable things that your misbehaved minds must know at such a tender age?

Now, I won’t bore you with details, and get straight to the point, because in the words of the remarkable Miles Davis-

I suppose it must be quite clear to you that I’m not the person who likes wasting time. That is why when I was correcting your hastily scribbled English papers I got infuriated because that is exactly what I felt I was enduring- time waste. Ahem, you see, your English papers were quite…well, let’s just say that they were…something.

*deep breath* Okay, here goes-

From misspelling “receive” as “recieve”, to using “thought” after “didn’t”, the number of errors in the grammar of the papers was devastating 🤯! I was quite positively alarmed at the absurdity of the blunders you dared to make! Seriously, have I not taught you anything?! Have all these years of teaching you that the word “despite” does not require an “of” been a mere waste of my precious time 😵?! I mean, how hard is it to remember that “year” only has one syllable, and not two!? And why, why would you think that when Bassanio was talking about the golden fleece, he was actually referring to the fleece, when the fleece was just a metaphor for the uNiMaGiNaBlE bEaUtY oF pOrTiA!?

😤😤😤😤😤😤😤😤😤😤😤

I am so angry! I have never met a batch of students so utterly thoughtless and imbecile! Not to mention, the number of pupils who put a comma after “nevertheless” was enough to give me an existential crisis! If only my subject was that easy! Do you even know the basic concepts of English!? Because at this point, I am sure you cannot even spell common words like “sesquipedalian”, which for your kind information, means “relating to long words” 🙄. The juniors did so much better than you (they did worse actually, but you don’t need to know that). But you won’t study because you think my subject is oh-so-easy. Well if it’s that easy, try answering this ☺!

I’m sure your puny little brains can’t answer that. Do you know why? BECAUSE IT IS NEITHER YES NOR NO 😩! It is the third, secret option, you daft fools! You are too busy thinking about gravity and circles and winds and X and Y chromosomes and anything related to any subject but mine to be able to use your brain in logical matters for significant questions like THIS!

Absurdly ludicrous! Outrageously preposterous! Incredibly insane! Never have I felt the curse so strongly upon the Jewish nation! I am so disappointed in you that I cannot even-

*deep breaths* I’m trying to calm down now.

Well, I’m not so sure this much amount of vexation is good for my blood pressure. So I might as well get to the point of what I wanted to tell you through this letter right away, which is none other than…

YOU’RE FAILING!😡

Yours exasperatedly,
Mrs. Adverb,
Your English Teacher,
From a room in Portia’s house in Belmont.


Well, that was fun to write, hehe.

Check out my other post: A Letter from Your Maths Teacher.

That one was quite a hit, all credits to Akshita’s post- A Letter from Algebra. And so, I decided to do a similar one, and here we are. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you liked it. Do check out Akshita’s post, it was hilarious!

Posted in Stories and Poems

Demon in me

So here is something different. This is a poem on a very serious issue in society. It is fiction and not inspired by real events. I would have put a trigger warning but I do not want to spoil what the poem is about. Instead, I will say that the intended audience for this post is 14+.


He knows they can’t take it anymore,
And yet, he’s still torturing them.
When he speaks again, his words cut deep into her flesh,
Sending a jolt through her heart,
As her head snaps to attention.

A cold smile lingers on his face,
As he contemplates his next victim.
His eyes roam hungrily over them all,
Trying to locate the weakest.
She shifts in her seat,
Dread seeping through every pore of her body.

She can feel the waves of collective terror,
Radiating from each of them,
As they inwardly pray to be spared from his wrath.
And just when it gets hard to breathe,
He says her name,
A smug look flashing across his face,
At the panic in her eyes.

She swallows hard, knowing the worst has come,
Wishing so badly for it to be a dream.
She rises slowly,
Trembling from head to foot.
He drags her, then he pushes her,
Into the dirty, cramped room.

Her breathing quickens,
Till the air seems to be squeezed out of her lungs,
And she desperately tries to push him away,
But it doesn’t work.
He slams her down hard against the cold floor.
She’s gasping, wailing, she’s close to fainting,
But he doesn’t care.
They never do.

And then he does it.
The moment he enters her,
He has unleashed all the demonic cruelty
Anyone can ever possess.
She doesn’t gasp now, doesn’t say a word anymore,
For something inside of her breaks,
Shattering into tiny pieces she can’t put together.

She breaks, in a way she’s never broken before.
She lies there, hurt and shivering in the dark,
The sound of his maniacal laughter,
Burning itself into her memory.
She closes her eyes, and waits,
The only freedom that she is allowed.

And when it’s over, she walks out,
Into the same group who are still holding their breaths,
Dreading the inevitable, dreading what she had just faced.
They notice the lack of tears on her face,
The lack of emotion on her face.
She does not cry, not yet.

But there will be nights,
When she would muffle the howls that escape her throat with her blanket.
There will be days,
When she won’t see the sun and feel its heat,
But feel the dark closing in on her.
There will be times,
When she won’t recognize who she is anymore,
Used and twisted by a monster, lost whatever she used to be.

Lost her essence,
Lost her laughter,
Lost herself.
She thought she knew how to handle pain,
But it turns out,
That numbness is a worse feeling.

Some wounds are just too deep to be healed.

~Nehal


This poem depicts a group of girls who have somehow been trapped by a rapist. The girls are powerless to prevent what the man intends to do them. The poem is inspired by a similar event that I read in- All The Light We Cannot See.

Rape is an issue I never thought I would ever write on, or have the guts to publish, but looking back on the poem I wrote- The Cold Wait, I realized I can twist the ending and it would be a great way to make a poem to address this issue. If I have a blog and a voice, if I have content that people read, and if I have the power of being heard, it would be a shame to not use it to create awareness. THIS CRIME MUST STOP! Rape isn’t just physical torture, it is something that ruins a girl forever in ways I don’t ever want to imagine. So please, spread awareness, show support! This crime just has to stop!!

I don’t have much else to say, but I’ll link a blog post. Rape- A henious crime by Riddhi @ Whispering Stories. Please read this!! Also, thanks to Tiction @ Fictionally Crazy for coming up with such a great title.