words in her soul : pain

I clutch the pieces left of my broken heart in my palm. It’s only a glass trinket, but it’s every representation of my misery now. The sharp edges poke at my hand, not enough to draw blood, but enough to give me a sense of the physical manifestation of what I truly feel inside.

It’s cold.

The air I inhale.

The breath I exhale.

The room I’m trapped in.

My heart of stone.

Cold.

The darkness envelopes me into the comfort of the dreamless sleep. No lucid dreams. No haunting nightmares. But sleep doesn’t last long. If I move, the rest of the shattered glass moves beneath me, cutting at my skin.

I hear the silent breathings of another soul who must exist in this room.

I glance around. I see nothing in the darkness. Nothing but the void.

I rise from the glass, which is now ashes between my toes. The cuts on my arms and shoulders are gone. But there is still a sting of pain. Even the remains of the glass heart are no longer in my hand. Instead, it’s ash. I let it fall to the ground. I look around.

Rise.

There it is again. The sound of a voice. It’s so quiet that I begin to wonder if it’s in my mind. Almost incoherent, except for one word.

Rise.

I do a complete turn. The darkness is fading in this direction. It’s not light. Not even close. But it’s muted. I can see objects, outlines of shapes.

I take a step, but the ash is gone. Now there’s the soft yet scratchy cushion of grass. I take another step, and the more I walk forward, the more I can see.

I can see the dress I wear is white. It falls just above my knees. I can see the blades of grass and the outline of trees. I can feel the air grow warmer with every step.

It’s no longer cold. The darkness fades further and further away. It’s not quite light yet, but I’m starting to believe it can be. And the chill that left me shivering has melted away into warmth. It’s not hot, but it’s comfortable.

The grass beneath my feet becomes hard. I look down to find stones. It’s a path, leading to who knows where. But whatever it has to offer must be better than the place I leave behind me. I glance back, tempted for a moment to turn back. To go back to the familiar.

Yes, it’s cold.

And dark.

And miserable.

But it’s comfortable.

It’s what I’m used to.

But that voice has grown louder now, a pair of new words dancing in the air.

Carry on…

So I must.

The road may be long. And hard. And I’ll be tempted to turn back.

But I will carry on.

Hello, beautiful souls. If this story touched you in some way, I ask that you please share it with a friend who may need to see this. I really want to spread some love and hope to people who are suffering. I wrote this short story on a really bad day, a day where I didn't see the light. A day where I felt like I was clutching a shattered glass heart in my hand.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. Usually, I want the story to take center stage, but I want to let you know that next week, I have a special announcement. (All writers, pay attention.)

As for now, I hope your day is amazing. And if you're struggling today, I hope you know how much I love you, and how much you are loved. Keep fighting because you have such a huge purpose.

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