Monsters

I always spot her, her long black hair billowing behind her as she walks with her head down. Her high cheekbones are hidden behind her mane. Always absent minded, like she does not belong wherever she is.

More often than not, people notice her throwing her hair back as if an irksome fly is stuck in its strands. Sometimes she rubs her neck as if to ward off some unknown frustration. When she meets my eyes, she gives a smile of recognition. Her smile reminds me of a woebegone old palace carrying scarce signs of its previous glory.

On rare moments when she creeps in the topics of gossip, there is nothing more to say about her than the fact that she is a crackpot. She stares at onlookers as if she knows she is being talked about and leaves without a word, shooing away that same mysterious bug around her hair.

I never tell people what I saw the other day. I never tell people that a small black shadow sits on her shoulder behind her hair. A bunch of butterflies are stuffed painfully in its fist. Whenever a former glory of her smile is about to return and her eyes shine a little like dawn breaking in the east, the shadow whispers something in her ears. Her smile falters, like sudden eclipse. I never tell people I heard her whispering to the shadow once,

'Go away, Guilt!!! Just go away. Let go of my happiness!'

Honestly speaking, I am not scared of the shadow she carries. I have monsters of my own.