The Red Room: A Psychological Narrative
The Red Room was a place where silence didn’t merely whisper, it screamed. The air, heavy with despair and crimson memories, bore witness to murdered dreams. A trembling hand, clutching a dagger ready to strike, set the stage for an inevitable horror that unfolded before a silent, observing presence. This psychological story is by Manan Banik.
It began in the red room, where silence didn’t whisper, it screamed. The air floated thick, heavy with the weight of dreams not merely shattered, but murdered…
That room wasn’t for peace; indeed it carved despair & stitched with crimson memories…
She stood there, trembling, the dagger shining in her hands like a serpent ready to strike. I was there too. “Yes!” Right there — whirling in shadows, watching. Murder wasn’t in the plan, not at first. At least that’s what— she said. But her veins knew the truth. Her veins cried verses desperate to be spilled—
“Slay!”
“I didn’t let her take upon me”…
Ha! Ha!
The unicorn soon wept. I didn’t look away. I sewed her eyes myself. Indeed trying to carve out the guilt from my own superficial soul. Her blood flowed like a lullaby—
Warm—
Silky—
‘Haunting signatures!’
The hymns it sang were not of forgiveness. But of pain… Torture wasn’t punishment; it was worship. It was my holy rain…
She had once been everything; pure to me— My avatar of joy & grace. But I took her smile, peeled it off her face with a steady hand. Her nails cracked. Her soul twirled in agony…
“Bent like wire.”
“O messy soul!”…
Here lies? They feed the fire in my furnace now… I gathered her ashes & sealed them in a smoky jar, tucked away in the darkest corner of my very own existence…
“Oh!”
The unicorn bled from every pore..
The lore wasn’t mythical anymore..
It was gore. Simple.
Unforgiving—
Professional—
Yet I see her in my sleep.every night.dragging chgains. Too dark. Too deep to ever escape. Her bones etched into my bones like a symphony..
“oh !”
If only I could redpo just one breath unwrite the cursed script of that night. —
“that summoned death”…
Undo the ritual….
Now I wear velvet stitched with shame .
‘The dagger !’
It hides no longer …
It whispers …
Always …
My name…
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