Banksy

It then accord to her that no matter what she did. No matter how hard she tried to get him back. His blood was still going to be on her hands. There was no way of getting back something that had Lost some much life. It hurt to look out that window and see that car. That car that carried him.

It seemed all but a dream. A dream she couldn’t get out of. But then again it wasn’t. It was never going to be a dream. She would never wake from this nightmare she had created.

Their upendo had wilted then died. She could have tried to save it. But it was no use. He had found someone else to love, and...

This was inspired kwa Yugiohfanatic1 (M), kwa her characters and the situations they sometimes get into. So Enjoy.





She let her anger out on a pillow, punching it harder and harder as new sets of tears poured from her eyes, like a river after a nights storm. The tears ran down her face and onto the mto of which she punched.

"WHY? WHY? WHY?" She scream to the walls around her, as if for some reason they may just answer her.

She stopped all movements, she fist lay on the pillow, and her face turned to a framed picture on the kitanda side table. In the picture sat two people on a bench in some park....