Original Fic: Like Glass Shattering
Title: Like Glass Shattering
'Prompt-in-a-Box': Round #2
Prompt #3: "When?"
Word Count: 284
Genre: ANGST, implied death
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: None, original writing
Pairing: None
Summary: When your life shatters, when will it ever be whole?
The glass shatters. Million little pieces cast the bright daylight onto the walls, dance over the ceiling as the wind outside make the young tree branches dance.
I slide down the wall, hands up around my face, covering them, blocking out the view, closing myself in. It’s been another hard day, a voice inside me soothes. It sounds like my husband. It sounds like the only person who isn’t coming home today.
“It hurts,” I sob, finally releasing the fury of tears that have threatened all day. “It fucking hurts!” I scream to the ceiling, I scream to God, I scream to the men who took my husband away. “I can’t do it any more.”
And something inside me cracks wider. I look at the glass tumbler scattered on my kitchen floor, thinking how easy it would be to drowned myself in the sea of glass, make my heart stop bleeding inside, make it better… go on to a better place.
You survived, the voice reminds me. I survived. But my husband didn’t. And that is something I live with everyday. Neighbors, family, friends… they all give the silly notion of “time heals all wounds” yet I am still here, a year later, glass shattered, broken hearted and with a dead husband in the ground and the man who shot him in prison.
“Fucking time!”
I study the mini rainbows dancing on the ceiling and only one thing comes to mind…. When.
When will I be whole.
When will the good days out weigh the bad. The very bad be replaced with just bad days.
When will I be able to look outside and not think of the children we were planning on having.
When would I be able to move out of this house.
When…
When…
when.
I decide, like yesterday, and the day before that, and the hundred days before that… I can’t leave this Earth just yet. I needed to go on, show the man who shattered me I would be strong enough. I could go on without someone else. I’d be there when he came up for parole. I’d be there in my husband’s name.
I pick myself off the floor, imagining my husband’s arms around me, helping me stand and I make my way to the closet, getting a broom. The glass would be replaced with a new set, and that too would be shattered on my floor one day. But until then I’d keep the when’s to myself, and keep the dancing mini rainbows always close to me.
'Prompt-in-a-Box': Round #2
Prompt #3: "When?"
Word Count: 284
Genre: ANGST, implied death
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: None, original writing
Pairing: None
Summary: When your life shatters, when will it ever be whole?
The glass shatters. Million little pieces cast the bright daylight onto the walls, dance over the ceiling as the wind outside make the young tree branches dance.
I slide down the wall, hands up around my face, covering them, blocking out the view, closing myself in. It’s been another hard day, a voice inside me soothes. It sounds like my husband. It sounds like the only person who isn’t coming home today.
“It hurts,” I sob, finally releasing the fury of tears that have threatened all day. “It fucking hurts!” I scream to the ceiling, I scream to God, I scream to the men who took my husband away. “I can’t do it any more.”
And something inside me cracks wider. I look at the glass tumbler scattered on my kitchen floor, thinking how easy it would be to drowned myself in the sea of glass, make my heart stop bleeding inside, make it better… go on to a better place.
You survived, the voice reminds me. I survived. But my husband didn’t. And that is something I live with everyday. Neighbors, family, friends… they all give the silly notion of “time heals all wounds” yet I am still here, a year later, glass shattered, broken hearted and with a dead husband in the ground and the man who shot him in prison.
“Fucking time!”
I study the mini rainbows dancing on the ceiling and only one thing comes to mind…. When.
When will I be whole.
When will the good days out weigh the bad. The very bad be replaced with just bad days.
When will I be able to look outside and not think of the children we were planning on having.
When would I be able to move out of this house.
When…
When…
when.
I decide, like yesterday, and the day before that, and the hundred days before that… I can’t leave this Earth just yet. I needed to go on, show the man who shattered me I would be strong enough. I could go on without someone else. I’d be there when he came up for parole. I’d be there in my husband’s name.
I pick myself off the floor, imagining my husband’s arms around me, helping me stand and I make my way to the closet, getting a broom. The glass would be replaced with a new set, and that too would be shattered on my floor one day. But until then I’d keep the when’s to myself, and keep the dancing mini rainbows always close to me.