To Pieces

What happens when you release what has been bottled up for so long?

This was worth it, at some point- this view of the valleys and hills, the crisp, cool air of the sun-kissed sky, the safety of, mostly solitude. The questions from various visitors had become predictable by now: questions of the past, predictions of the future, and assurances of the present. Daria had listened to it all, and they had filled her with a sense of importance and purpose, especially after her wife died- the one person to stand by her side when her parents kicked her out, making her practically homeless. But Daria and her wife had made a home together. Now home was this tall, formidable, and comforting mountain holding her steady- or so she thought until one person asked a single question that made Daria wonder if everything she had thought were suddenly questionable. And that was uncomfortable. She answered questions; she never questioned herself.

The black woman with dark, curly hair framing her face stepped forward. Her rich, almond-shaped eyes were drowned in familiar waves of grief.  They made Daria uncomfortable. What question will Daria get now? When will she feel better? When will she find love again? But no. The woman stopped, and she looked at Daria for the longest time before Daria cleared her throat. “Your question?” 

“How are you doing?” 

“I-” For once, she had no answer. The cool crisp air tasted like ash; it felt cold and constricting against Daria’s skin. How was she doing? The words echoed throughout her body as if it were a cave, and suddenly she was aware of how isolated she had truly been from the world. 

A crack slithered throughout the mountain; suddenly, it had felt so hollow. The pang of grief spread through her body and pooled in the pit of her stomach. The weight of a thousand years crashed on Daria, sending her into a whirl of nausea. “I am unwell.” Daria crumbled into bone and ash and floated away in the breeze.