Explosion. 

Something exploded without a sound.  

No fires, no bombs, no cries were listened. 

Just the heat and a smell surrounded the room. 

Smell of burnt flesh and some papers. 

What made the explosion? What made it so silent? 

Someone or something had killed the innocent writer. 

Ohh! Look at that blood on floor and that dark burned skin.

Torn, shattered, disfigured. He is there. Lifeless. Lonely. Burnt. 

What could be the reason for such a brutal act? 

A week later, explosive was found. 

It was a phone call. 

A report was formed. 

“Few words were exchanged by the killer and the victim. 

Explosion took place the moment the writer hung up. 

The last words were ” I hate you” 

Said by the one who died like a sinner.. 

 The one who loved like a child.  “

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: