The Suicide

She ran across the world in a continuum of circles, her attire of ever-changing shades of indigo. Her possessions – an orb of light and a sphere of uneven mirror that chipped off into glitters of pieces.

Her job was of constancy and she never missed a day. Or night.

She complained of aching legs every year, and her tears of agony fell like rain. Some years, the pain was severe enough for a deluge, but everyone was nonchalant to her misery.

Her cloak grew darker as time chased her, nipping at her ankles. Her cries were more heart-wrenching and she shuddered in her devastation. The orb of light burned in her grasp and the jagged mirror bit into her palm. They set fireworks into her path and the smoke burned her cape of blue.

So she made her decision.

She walked on the horizon, the urgency in her steps increasing in crescendo. She twisted into a tornado.

The Sky drowned herself in the calm sea.

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