Picking up the Pieces
Tiny glass fragments are still embedded in the lush pile of the carpet. Reds and greens glint in the pale early morning rays, while yellows play hide and seek in the great expanse of beige.
I’m on my hands and knees, mindlessly recovering the shards of yet another dispute.
You’d stood taller as your words became brutal. Mine were beaten and transformed into excuses as I regressed with faltering voice. My cheeks burnt and my palms were moist.
“You’re a worthless waste of space,” you spat, and I felt the cold humiliating spray of those droplets while the insults continued relentlessly.
Outrage coursed, unchecked, through my trembling body, while in my mind, a lone thought flashed, like a deranged stoplight.
“Enough!” I screamed, and my loud piercing cry expressed the totality of my pent-up frustrations as I hurled the nearest object I could find towards you.
As it hit the side of your head, it broke into a myriad pieces, that fell with you, in slow motion.
So I continue to meticulously pick up each and every piece, while deciding what to do with your lifeless form.
Sunday is Sunday Photo Fiction day! I hope you will go and have a look at some of the other entries to this wonderful weekly challenge!