English, asked by surabhiarora2006, 5 months ago

short crime story (25 points) ​

Answers

Answered by srigirideekshitha
1

Answer:

few or so fingernails clawed

Along with the cold mattress,

As they continued to screech

And scratch neath the white velvety sheets.

A soft thud echoed in the canals of my ears

As the back of my head met

The frigid headboard of the bed,

While the tips of those nails

Now trailed along the forearms of mine

Until I wrenched my eye open

With my very own fingers clasped

Around both of my bare arms.

The crook of my neck,

Writhed with patches of stiffness

As I stretched out my limbs

Only to wince at the horrid creaking

That erupted out of them.

My shoulder blades turned and twisted,

As I caught the blotches of vivid redness

Lingering upon them before frowning

At the absence of the straps of my lingerie

That were ought to be there.

Twitches of numbness exploded

Along the spine of my back

As I propped onto my elbows

To lean against the headboard

When a sudden soreness

Bolted through the hips of mine.

And I wondered,

What were those srcaps of harshness

That I felt running back and forth

Upon the flesh of my thighs.

My head hurt with the abrupt

Unknownness of my surroundings

While tides of debilitation and

An overwhelmingly inexplicable fatigue

Hardly ebbed away as they ceaselessly

Wrecked through the nooks of my mind

Along with every inch of my every limb -

Until my gaze found what it had been

Seeking out all this while.

I saw you, slumbering away beside me

While the sheets shuffled and shrieked inaudibly

As I inched closer and closer

To the haven of familiarity that I lacked till now.

And everything, slowly and steadily

Crept back to its place,

The instant I tucked myself to your chest

As the placidly kempt heaving of it

Began to lull me back to sleep

Until I couldn't help but see it -

No, not the ripped off buttons of your shirt

But the long and dried scratches, resulting -

From these sharply clipped fingernails of mine,

That glistened across your very chest.

And indeed, each of them

Never once failed to resemble

Futile endeavours of resistance,

Perhaps from last night, which I absolutely

Seemed to have forgotten.

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