The Broken Glass

Numb.

That’s all she could feel when the pieces sliced her arm, she wasn’t feeling nor did she think of anything. Everything seemed vague to her, all she saw was the red liquid dripping down the floor. In the corner of the pink box, she cried, however nothing came out from her hopeless eyes. Only soft whimpers escaped from her mouth. She wiped off the red liquid and sat there for hours, she thought of nothing, not even herself. She plastered her wounds and as days went by it healed, lies, it left marks. She was frightened people would notice.

Walking down the street with her arms slightly uncovered, she could feel the stares. She made up scenarios and spent years of feeding everyone lies, she would shake everytime people observed her. Until one day, someone shot her as a target of humiliation, she couldn’t speak. She hid her left and looked down in shame. Her lips closed tight, her eyes begged for mercy. But this one kept on going, did she feel satisfied with her script?

That memory kept replaying in her head, the day when she was confronted for the thing she did out of her sense. Eversince, she chose to let anyone know that she was and is still battling. She was aware of the strange glances and she let it slide. But still, the wounds were crystal clear on her mind, there was no way to erase those marks. Then, she embraced her.

She wants to be listened.