Her Life For Sale

November 1, 2011
Here in the drive way holds the things she’d once found precious. No matter what happened around her, she had clung onto them. Whether it was a means of defense, a wistful example, or an excuse for why she was different. One too many confrontations with misfortune caused her to cast aside the things she held onto dearly.

Her childhood is in the corner, missing so many pieces like a worn puzzle. There are holes that prevent the buyer from seeing the whole picture. It’s been so long that even the owner had forgotten what the puzzle looked like anymore, but from glancing at the distorted image from afar one can clearly make out the dark, looming image. Perhaps the worst of the puzzle was discarded as a means of self-preservation or maybe it was so irrelevant that it wasn’t worth keeping. But either way, the girl had to throw away this vital part of her. She no longer wanted to fill the holes with brighter images or look down on it nostalgically, fighting relentless tears.

Besides it is the unity she’d once looked up to. Relationships were supposed to be established like that; after so much misery the unity of two people made all the adversity worth it. Happiness, love, marriage, and family were supposed to be the answer, not the problem. Heartbreaking dilemmas weren’t supposed to arise and the downfall of one’s life isn’t supposed to be from family. So she tossed the belief she once clung to in the sale corner, casting away whatever positive association she had with love and marriage.

In the very front is her innocence. It had faded long ago, but the girl had clutched onto it trying to squeeze out whatever’s left. Of course, nothing came. No matter how hard she clung to it, she still saw the world in harsh lighting with dark shadows swirling together wherever she went. She was haunted by demons, but not the childish demons, the terribly real ones that causes a person to take their life.

And besides that is hope. She’d once heard that hope is the thing with feathers from a poet who was as lonely as she. Hope was in fact a feather; it had to be held on tightly or else it will flutter away to find a new owner with a firmer grasp. She’d once held so many feathers in her hand, but now the last one was on the mat from her ancestors. The girl had given this one up voluntarily. It wasn’t necessary for a gust of hardship to steal this one away from her; she didn’t have any more fight in her to keep her hand clutched.

She sits beside them, waiting for anyone to take them from her. As the first person comes to look at the items she’s offering, her heart skips a beat. She doesn’t know if it was from fear that he wouldn’t take away the damaged goods that she wants far, far away from her or if she’s grieving the parts of herself she is sacrificing. Either way, she stands up and gives him her sales pitch so she wouldn’t have enough time to discover the reason.





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