The devil in the vase smiled at her again. It was a mocking smile that scared the wits out of her. She screamed and ran out of the room.
It was followed by torture in the mental asylum. She hated the nurses in white uniforms, with indifferent expressions that bordered on cruelty. She detested the doctors who delivered the painful pricks and the unbearable electric shocks. Her stomach churned to see the sick people around her, nonchalantly indulging in horrendous, repulsive acts.
Why had life turned so dark? She remembered her blissful childhood in the arms of her mother, and the luxurious vacations they spent together abroad. Her world had turned upside down, with the untimely death of her mother, and the entry of a stepmother in the house. People said she was a renowned actress, and the palatial house was a perfect framework for her picturesque beauty. It made her wonder what beauty meant. The calm, serene expression on her mother’s face, peaceful even in death, or the face fixed by hairdressers and makeup experts, on her stepmother’s tall frame.
She was the only one who could see the devil in the vase. And nobody had ever believed her.
Inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction – January 15,2017