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Top Prize Winning Story The Sad Tragic Story of a Balcony

It is a story about a balcony.  When people move to their new house, The old house’s balcony becomes lonely and sad. This story saying balcony by itself it’s not true but writer convey balcony’s message to those who move to new house and enjoy thir life.

Prize Winning Story

I was beautiful balcony. Many years ago, when Abu Dawood constructed his house, he joined me during the construction of the room; my beauty was outstanding in those days. I have seen several epochs, battling the heat intensity of sunlight, the frostiness of winter, sometimes the rainstorm of monsoon, and the weather of June-July extremely warm-up, I underwent too much. But..!! But above all these, the separation had in my life; pain is wrapped around my heart. My beautiful color and complexion evaporated day by day. Today I only scream the past eternities.

I could never forget that time when of day. A girl had hiked in my locale; she was the new juvenile bride of Abu Dawood. When Abu Dawood holds me, moments like sandalwood, talking with Eeshal on mobile phone with beautiful posture and pretty smile, standing on my tract, sometimes he hit on me with his hand. As though I was the third person between them, I quietly heard their words.

I always wanted to be Romeo, not Juliet. Romeo is a much more excellent way to be Juliet’s just upon a balcony, waiting.~Christine, and the Queens

But after the wedding of Abu Dawood, I was thrilled because of the appearance of Eeshal in the house, how much of her words made me glad, I had adored with her, often mostly she grabbed a mug of hot steamed tea, and she entered in my zone, then she shared with me everything like a way of verbal self. Those days my isolation decreased gradually. During the passing of day and night, I felt that now Abu Dawood’s interest was not of being in me, same like before, sometimes he could not step into my area for several days.

But I did not believe the sight of one day. It was a lonely evening of the autumn when I saw Abu Dawood and his wife stood up on the road with varied luggage, were dawdled for their vehicle; I have to close my eyes with severe pain. Abu Dawood made my design with feelings of great desire, but now they both left me to go abroad for everlastingness. Where perhaps, the extra beautiful balcony in a new homeroom adjacent was waiting for them. This separation belongs to me, Abu Dawood and Eeshal. Probably it’s called human elaboration. But I lost patience in my life gradually, now slowly I becoming into dust day by day.

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