Blues Of Her Existence

she had heard it, she had heard it for the first and the last time, on the day she could finally feel herself, on the day she saw a corpse, her own corpse.

 Her mother venting out all her pain sitting beside a coffin, ready to be buried but even when she was trapped in a box with no space to breathe or move she was free.

The nonexistent body felt more existing now. The time had started moving for her when it had stopped for everyone around. The atmosphere had hardened all through the home. 

Yet she felt alive. This was better than the "mortal death that could have accompanied her" she thought. they had begun with the rituals to send her off, she could get the aroma of flowers, the "scent" of her body rotting. 

She could feel the presence of her birth giver. there she remembered the words she heard, in a perplexed way, of how they wanted to kill her even before she was born . of how they thought of her as a burden, of how the rational creatures killed her in the walls of her mother's womb with no choice to scream or repeal.

Irony is the mortal death was head and shoulder above than the "living death" she could have faced.