The Dream That Betrayed.

The constant clap of deafening thunder. A constant blinding lightning. What could a broken heart do but cry with the cries of nature!
Will he call? Will he come?
Just once?
She had been lying on the bed for as long as she could remember. Moving in and out of a hopeless slumber, she lay there, dazed. Her face rested on a sheet of paper, the ink on which had bled. The ink could only blame the drops running down across her cheeks for washing it off the sheet. Her tears were unaware that they made her words bleed.
Devoid of love, her pen had dried up.
She opened her eyes to feel a pain stab them. She shut them again. She tried to lift her head, but a weight hung in there, and she couldn’t raise herself.
Was she dying? Will he know if she was dead? Will he call once before she died?
She tried hard and managed to open her eyes just enough to look at the wall before her.
She saw him. Angry. Eyebrows cringed, he was screaming. She stood there, unable to hear the words he spoke. She stood there, shaking. Shaking in pain, shaking with an unknown scare, shaking in her own desperate efforts to explain.
He threw the small compass she had gifted him. The only gift she had ever got for him. She turned back to pick it up, unaware that her shaky body made it difficult to pick it up at once. It had already cracked. She dropped it again. The glass came off. She lifted the broken compass and the glass with unsteady hands, her ears and mind blinded by his screams.
‘You took my idea. You stole my story. You stole my story, my dream story! How could you do it to me? I cannot live with you anymore,’ she heard him shout.
Now, lying on the bed, she closed her eyes again. She opened them to find the blank gray wall. He wasn’t there.
He had left the same day she got a check from the publisher for her story.
The story that he said was his.
The story that he said was his dream.
The dream that they shared of a life together forever.
She could not explain that she had the same dream.
The dream of a life together.
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