It’s a story of a beautiful lady I met once, a pure and an honest soul. It’s a little part of her life which remained untold till she was alive. I believe she deserves a bit of attention for her trueness and bravery which would always put her into nothing but troubles. She deserves to be known. So here I am narrating, a tiny but important section of Rebella’s life. Likely her name she never failed to prove what a rebel she was. I had always considered her the most precious gift, a gift which never got its worth acceptance by anybody because she was born a girl with a tongue. She was an adorable chatterbox you would want to hear all day-night and she would never ever speak any nonsense but intellect. What a visionary with a brilliant imagination of authentically logical thoughts and all she wanted was to give her voice to inspire a change. She was a blessing who had misfortunes of fate, which made her no acceptance by the society and people for being her way. Been mocked and knocked every time she tried to speak her words, was insulted and named, sick mind for trying putting an effort to change the pre-existing trend.
Of course, she had to face this because she did a mistake. She was a girl, how could she be allowed to speak her words. She was not being killed right after her birth and given an opportunity to be alive and see this beautiful world was not enough that she is demanding more for her? How could she carry an audacity to speak for her rights and bringing a change of equality?
She’s not given this much privilege and she would never be granted this much. She should be disdained of the benefits for bits of freedom she has been guaranteed, for trying to take advantage of it. And she was stoned for being a talkative ass and been caged in the prison of darkness and silence for eternity.
Pained and tired, helpless, what she could do, had no choice but to shut her because she was alone. No single soul to understand what she wanted and what she deserved. All were her haters and she could do nothing but give up on her chords. She went muted and lost in non-recovering darkness.
One day, she was sitting on her roof gazing at stars, talking to them with her silent eyes, demanding answers for her unending queries. No words were there to fill the empty air with sounds and her brain rushed the noise of thoughtful ideas. She took a journal and started framing them, thinking of making it a public post as an anonymous writer. To her surprise, there was an unexpectedly brilliant result. She was feeling proud of reaching up to find a way to swaying her dreams of sharing her mind to the world, to bring a revolutionary change. The same time she was belittled by the existence of pretentious people who could never accept her in real, being alive and put her under the death of muteness for life.
And, in the virtual world, the same people are sharing and spreading her words like an inspirational and motivational message giving her a new life. It was a grieving instead of a happy moment, for being born in a state of organisms hiding their originality under masks.
Well, how long could she be running from the fact that she too belongs to these same people, she is the part of same society with fake people. And she learned to give her realities a frame of life under her words, giving her life a gift of pretentiousness, just to be a fit in this world full of spineless creatures.
Initially, it appeared very easy to be a hide and speak in words, grab the fame; become a star in an unreal colossal. She was getting in love with this sort of moment; suddenly she had self-realization of becoming one among them. She hated being pretentious, it was never her, never her dream to be like them all. She knew she was different and knowing for becoming the one like hideous, she felt absolutely broken. She was a born talent, and she never needed falseness inside her to shine among the world.
Then came the bravest move she ever did, she decided to write her story, speaking about her journey of turning pretentious, then to a realization of strife air choking her soul for getting caged in the fame of fake mess. She was so damaged that she couldn’t stand being a prisoner of the unrealistic population, so, gave the last words to her followers, to bring an activation of differentiating among the beauty of being real than being ostensible. And she needed to do something different, something audacious, she adopted to prove herself in no words but, to release her soul from this body lying under cuffs of ostensible life, to let her shine like a star in a place somewhere she could be her, be real.
Thence, a lie buries to ashes, when the brightness arise,
A pretentious dies into bushes when the reality is alive.