Shards

A by L. Alcantara

I'm broken. That pretty much I'm sure of right now. Even if I wanted to, I can't blame it on anyone else because I know clearly that I'm the one who brought this burden upon me. I had a chance in the beginning. To start fresh. But I let all of those that are important slip from my hands. They now lay broken into sharp pieces which I won't be able to pick up without risking a cut that would spurt blood.

I brought this upon me. More than anyone, I should have the power to wisk it away and put the pieces back together. The scars won't disappear. Its marks will always show that it was once broken. But more importantly, the fact that it is once again whole wouldn't be denied.

The reason why I can't start picking up the pieces is because I'm afraid of the cut that accompanies it. It is a risk. What I'm afraid of may and may not happen. But the torture the risk inflicts into my mind is a punishment in itself even without the cut. I tried to push it away, keeping my mind averted from the destructed reality I've created for my self. The more I do this, The farther I stray from the task at hand: The task to put the pieces back together.

The clock is ticking. The damages are increased by the minute. The shards I'm afraid of suddenly begin to multiply. They surround me, inescapable. It knocks on my consciousness more frequent than they did before. Is it time to be bruised? Am I now left with no choice? I do have a choice: Bleed from the sharp shards of my failure... Or escape it. Escape it along with everything else. Plunge into a quicksand of constant despair for the rest of my life... And slowly become nothing... And be forgotten...

I could see that the choices left for me aren't very different from each other. There's suffering waiting for me on both ends. However, much as they are alike, my choices hold a significant difference. Beyond the shards, a chance to heal and start again after a loud explosion aimed at my face. On the other end, the fall would be silent... Amost soundless. But the fall would be lasting like a nigtmare I wouldn't be able to wake up from. Which suffering should I choose? I'd like to hold on to the promise of a new start despite my wounds. The thin light just beyond the shards is something to look forward to even if there are chances that I would be destroyed even before its warmth touches my skin.

I have God as an armour and will as a helmet. I should be able to make it.

If only I would take the first step.