Shyama stood on the terrace of their home, watching the bridal procession leave, the strains of the nadaswaram sounding in the distance. Her sister was leaving with her husband to start her new life. A man selected for her, but who had chosen her sister. Which was expected, how could anyone like her?

She remembered the taunts. More than the words, it was how they made her feel, small, unloved, unwanted even if they were true. Words which had been hurled against her, used as a name, flung as curses. But how could she be blamed for the colour of her skin? 

A hysterical laugh bubbled, drowning the distant sounds; apparently, she could be.

And blamed for every misfortune, however minor, however impossible it could be. Famine, drought, cows giving less milk, the food burned, too many mosquitoes, anything was her fault. Yet, it had not tainted the money she earned; the money had always been welcome, she was not. 

Nor had her plumpness prevented them from insisting that she do her share of the household chores. She would not have minded till she grew aware of the difference in treatment meted out to her and her siblings. Her younger sister, who was her opposite and hence liked, and her brother, who was adored simply because he was a boy.

As her awareness grew, so had her helpless anger. Anger that dissipated into abject despair over the last three months as she watched her sister's wedding preparations. To the man who had been selected for her, who had agreed to marry her for the salary she earned but then, one glimpse of her fair, slim sister and he changed his mind. 

Shyama wiped away tears as she stepped closer to the edge; she had thought she could not cry anymore. But it had hurt, to watch that dream stolen from her, pained that no one cared for her feelings. Well, her mother had put up a feeble protest and her sister, a token resistance; not that it had made much difference. 

Later she had overheard her parents and grandparents, who felt that what happened was for everyone's good; one daughter married off without forking out the dowry and the other daughter's salary would still be theirs. After all, there were negligible chances of getting Shyama married. That night, she had given up all hopes of ever being loved. 

Silence befell her; the marriage party had left and everyone had retired for the night. As expected, none had bothered about her. She should be angry but was tired. Exhausted from saying nothing, trying to feel nothing. 

She stared at the ground below,  wondering if she could become a crow and fly away. If not, she would crash. Either way was freedom from those taunts, which now echoed in her head, screaming at her. Unable to take them anymore, she stepped off.

As her bones shattered, she sank into blessed silence, free of the words...'black as a crow, fat as a cow...

Word count 500

Submission for round seven of the the Reading List Marathon, where we had to write a short story, in less than or equal to 500 words, with a title borrowed from one of the books added to WattpadShortStory's reading list - 'Boxed Sets'.

The story must highlight the protagonist's struggle with racism, bullying, body shaming or other social stereotypes. 

Update - This was placed third. Yipee...