Shards of What Was

Through the wall he could hear the contained, clangorous sound of his sister vomiting into a pan;

through the window, he could hear his dad’s truck peel out the driveway & on down the cul-de-sac.

She cried herself sick; he left.

The sounds entered through different ears & collided in his brain with such force

that an explosion of frustration overtook him in the form of clenched fists & teeth.

The remnants of the blast was evident in his emerald eyes

as he sat in the chair at his desk, alone.

He wanted to move away from it all,

but he knew that wouldn’t help anything.

No, nothing can help when help is not wanted.

“Is she okay?” he asked his mother.

“She’ll be all right. Did he leave?”

“What does it matter? The damage has been done.”

He was wrong.

* * * * * * *

She tended her frantic daughter, calmed her, then retired to her bed.

She looked at the pictures on the walls of a once-shared room.

* * * * * * *

He returned to his desk, put his head in his hands.

Moments later, another explosion:

this one was outside of his head.

He pushed away from the desk, ran toward his mother,

but he was too late.

Shattered glass covered the beige carpet in a thin layer,

like virgin snow on an unsuspecting desert.

Tears & blood mixed in with the shards.

She was not herself.

Rage poured out in stuttering breaths.

Blood trickled down her arms,

the trails coiling around like a double helix.

The images and memories were woven into her being, her DNA.

She did not want them there.

For a few moments she sat cross-legged atop her own destruction,

head bobbing with the sobbing.

She then took notice of the blood,

took notice of her son standing in the doorway.

The memories had been painfully removed from their frames,

from their glass borders.

Maybe now she will finally let them go.

“Clean this up, I’ll get some band aids,” was all he could utter.

On his way out the house, he shut his sister’s door,

sheltering her from the images of her own home.

* * * * * * *

Endings are often disguised as new beginnings.

Reviews

[just Penny]

This is a deeply moving, tragic snapshot of desperation and intense pain. To shelter someone from the "images of her own home" really says that it is no longer home. The only way from there has to be up. Very well written. Penny