Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
My days in hostel were tough. I was ragged by my seniors. We were asked to wash their dirty clothes, do their odd jobs, etc. When it came to eating, we would be often given burnt rotis and milk that had awful odour. But, never once did I call home. I knew if I had to become a tough cricketer, I would have to handle the pressure.
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My days in hostel were tough. I was ragged by my seniors. We were asked to wash their dirty clothes, do their odd jobs, etc. When it came to eating, we would be often given burnt rotis and milk that had awful odour. But, never once did I call home. I knew if I had to become a tough cricketer, I would have to handle the pressure.
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