The Silent Cry

January 23, 2010
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It happened a few days ago, when I was coming back form work. I opened the front door’s upper lock and turned the knob in a swift movement. I accidentally had dropped my keys. Casually, I bent down to pick them up, quietly swearing to myself, thinking about how clumsy I could be and how some rest would do me much good. That’s when I got a glimpse of the puny crimson dot on my usually perfectly polished parquet. I slightly tilted my head up and finally perceived the long trail of intense red spots, slowly drying and staining my floorboard. The track led to the kitchen.
As I approached, feeling my heart pounding unusually fast and my hands getting moister, I thought I heard a metallic sound. I crept towards the revolving door, trying to be as discrete as possible. As I arrived to my destination, I flanked myself against the nearest wall and sat down to think. I didn’t have much time. Should I call the police or confront the intruder myself? Who could get inside of my flat, without my keys, but still being able to close the door from the inside? I checked the three windows I could see from where I was and noted that their clamps were closed. Exasperated by my questions, feeling a spur of adrenaline as well as a sudden surge of heat encircling me, I grabbed a heavy bronze statue on a counter near me, and leaped into the kitchen. Yet, it was empty. Not a peep could be heard, not a shadow could be seen. Every object was in its place. I searched for a metallic object which could have produced the noise. The casseroles and pans were all in their habitual drawer.
Abruptly, my entire body stiffened. I couldn’t feel any members of my body anymore. A freezing cold gush of wind was swishing near me. I immediately turned around to face whatever could be behind me. Once again, no one was to be seen, but the miniature fan on the dining table was turned on. I strode out of the kitchen in a fast, but quiet movement.
There she was: a young teenage girl, who must have been about fourteen, was sitting on the sofa. One hand was placed on her bleeding nose, her hair was humid from the rain outside and a few diamonds could be seen in the centre of her eyes as they shone in the moonlight. Instantly, all my fears disappeared and gave way to a form of pity .What could this innocent girl be doing in my apartment?
“I’m sorry I stained your carpet. I also turned on the fan, as it’s really warm here.” Her eyes were full of fear as she spoke the words.
“Please, don’t make me leave. I don’t want to go back there…”
That’s when I realized that her nose was actually broken.





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:)krysten(: said...
Jun. 4, 2010 at 11:53 pm
I was TOTALLY on the edge of the chair! Wow that was good! I love it! :)
 
Louis This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jun. 5, 2010 at 4:53 am
OMG! Thank you so much for the positive feedback!
 
:)krysten(: replied...
Jun. 5, 2010 at 8:55 pm
Your welcome! :)
 
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