Sheila

The coast dried and hungry, the sun baked its its own warmth, the river drowning in peace and admist these clouding mascaqrade Sheila hunts down her dreadful past. Life streams on but who cared about this lonesome girl of twenty, pulpitative in demanour, the bride of the imperial.Coat of courage does fade on all someday and the warning pit her soul into vagrancy. Today, she stood in the ripeness of her life and she lets those weary tears pull the ranchness away. Sheila steals a glance at the kippler bounded couple who walk the distance in sand and the world seems a love tale unfinished. Her heart pounds but the stirring keeps the mind unplucked. She needs to believe her soul is not dithering and the spirit has not lost its lustre. Intriguingly, the eve sun parks the battle of light with the approaching dusk and the stunned sky let sprays of stars bury through them. Sounds become distant. Silence its avalanche throws. Her mind is absolutely numbed and the prerogative of being herself scounge in the dearth of the promiscuious sun. Paleness grows across and Sheila feels her head reel with invincible power. She keeps to let her eye open, but the audacity compels her to quit. The heels spring off and Sheila collapses in the mush of the wet sand and the water sweep at her feet and mouth. Life allots and her protagonist translates her untold stories.