Casually going through my reader this morning and come across this post. Friday Flash – Shattered. Why not, I say. So here is my Friday Flash – Shattered.
The doorbell rings, I am lying face down on the floor. My hands are red and throb from the pounding of wooden boards. Blood trickles from torn flesh on my small knuckles. I wipe the tears and mix them with their dried ancestors. Together they stain my soul. Damage my sight. Hold me back from the happiness that I felt just a few weeks ago.
The doorbell rings again. I try to move and bring myself to a kneeling position. I can feel the sweat, the tears, the dirt masking who I really am.
It was two weeks ago that I said good-bye to them. No, I said I would see them soon. In all actuality, deep down inside I screamed. “Do not go, stay here with me. I love you. I will, I am, strong. Can you not see this. I am not heartless. I do love you. I am sacrificing myself for you. For you to have a new start, new beginnings. A household without friction, without arguments !”
The doorbell rings twice in rapid succession. It echoes inside an empty soul. Alone, the tears fall hard. The laughter of children swell my eyes shut. Does anyone know how hard the decision was ?The decision was made for them only in mind. No more having to worry about a bed here or there. Where to go to school this month. Which relative would let us stay with them this weekend. Those battles are gone. The memories of trying to be happy, cracked. Split into two. The ones I will always have. The ones the children will hold inside their hearts.
Once I decided on this summer dad theme, I worked more then ever. Was it a shield to forget the huge void they left ? Was it to build myself, grow and be the rock in their eyes ? Was it because I was young and never got to enjoy my late teens, early twenties ? Was it to become a figure that one day they will realize it was all about them ? So many questions. Answers that did exist.
The doorbell rings, fist knocks on the wooden door. I have no more strength. It left me fourteen days ago. I attempt to speak but severe cotton-mouth prevents such an act. The moisture which composed my being lays in a puddle of tears. Dehydration has taken away my strength. I remain silent. I am shaking. I am shattered.