The fresh green wind gushed in through the window, and hugged her tiny ears. Her jhumkas danced in the embrace.

Dear Diary,

It has been long since I wrote. But you know all that has been going on for the last few weaks… I never could find time. The exams, the fights …

It was my last exam yesterday. Don’t even ask about them. I really hope I pass my English exam. She is very strict when it comes to corection.

Right now, we are going to Ooty. That’s where Amma Appa met. I hope they will stop fighting now.

Dear Diary

(Image by Neha Menon©️)

Her feet were numb, but so were her hands. She could not think — her head had frozen. And the weather was barely helping.

Dear Diary,

What do I do know now? I’m scared. I overherd Appa over the phone… And.

He was talking to an Aunty.. Maybe Amma was right… about his.….maybe.

Maybe there is somebody else in Appa’s life?

The loud voices pierced her tiny ears, as she desperately tried to plug them.

Dear Diary,

I told Amma. She was angry, but I could see tears in her eye. And now they are fighting. What new can I say? It’s exactly like each of those entrys I’ve made everytime they fight.

Silence. A door bangs shut.

This is weird. This silence creaps me out. I have to go downstairs.

The door moans, and she collapses into the bed.

The door has been shut forever, and Appa had gone somewhere — I don’t know were. He left before I went down.

After he came back, he took Amma with him. They have not come back. What happened ..nobody

Where are they?

The fresh dew on the grass was trampled by the wheels of the stretcher. The white peacefully resisted the serene greenery around it.


(Image by Neha Menon©️)

Dear Diary,

What happened yesterday is completely my fault. I cannot take this anymore. I thought this week would be happy, but after yesterday….. I don’t think I will make anymore entries.


The inspector left the diary open on the seat of his jeep, as he thoughtfully lighted a cigarette. His subordinate spoke up —killing the uncanny silence, “The girl must have felt responsible for her mother’s suicide.”

He nodded in agreement, and looked on at the shattered man, stooping over the stretcher; his eleven year old daughter. There was nothing left of his family.

Inked in blood, the diary screamed in vain. None but one could hear —

The Nothing.


Based on a story by fellow blogger, Avishek Singh —with a twist.


8 thoughts on “Inked

  1. It’s amazing… The pictures used add upto the suspense… It’s far better than my version… The metaphor used is amazing… I loved it..!! Proud of it…!! 😊😊😊

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I would love it if you want to rewrite any of my other stories… You are an amazing writer and It would be my pleasure to read your version…

        Liked by 1 person

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