The place was wreck. Broken glass, broken wood, and ripped up furniture lined the floorof the house it happened in. It's been one whole year since the accident, since I broke the glass,smashed the wood, with bloody knuckles and splintered fingers. I still have scars. As I stand inthe mess I lightly trace my scars with the tips of fingers reminding me of all the pain. I continue towalk around the broken house, memories flash in and out of my mind. How could something sobeautiful turn into something so ugly?The rain comes down in large heavy drops, they dance down the big arched window andeventually drop onto the floor surrounding me. Puddles of rain and tears stand out among theruins. I imagine myself splashing through those puddles, splashing so hard that I fall right throughthe floor and into another life. A life of someone beautiful and amazing, someone that isn't me.But I know that is impossible, I've stopped believing in impossible things becausedisappointments are everywhere, I was sick of being disappointed.My legs seemed as though they weren't attached to my body, it was a weird sensation,they brought me into the kitchen. My mother's favorite room; broken plates still occupied most ofthe floor. Why didn't I clean any of this up? I bent down and grabbed a plate, my mother's favoriteplace. This plate only had a tiny chip on the edge. A tear rolled down my cheek to the floor, Icouldn't cry, at least not now. I kept looking at the plate it was mocking me, I threw the platedown to the floor and watched it shatter and blend in with the rest of the plates.Finally I stepped through the glass. I heard my mother's voice scolding me for walkingaround in all this glass. I wasn't worried about the glass cutting through my boot and finallycutting into my foot, the pain might feel okay. The window above the sink was the only glass inthe house unbroken. This was always my favorite window to look through, it faced the backyard'sgarden. The garden was mine, the only thing that was just mine, each flower was somethingelse I could be proud of. I knew they must have been gone by now, we've had so much rain thispast year. They must have all drowned, just like I should have. To my surprise my garden wasstill alive. My flowers still brightly colored; pink, green, red, purple, blue, they were all so perfect. Ilet out a long sigh, I was relieved. One thing wasn't ruined, one thing was still alive to give mesome sort of hope. Maybe, just maybe, my life wouldn't be shades of gray forever.
March 27, 2012