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The Shattered

The Shattered

She had gray hair, colorless but radiant, like how you'd imagine stardust to look, or perhaps slender stands of sterling silver, and she knew how to say

"I love you"
In five different languages but she knew how to say
In nine

And she once stole a cue stick from a bar—the bar that closed down because they found a pretty little thing dead in the bathroom, and she said the girl had tried to inject daffodils into her veins to make herself happy but they couldn't breath and neither could the girl—she stole the cue stick because the scratches made it look lightning-struck, and she claimed you could feel the electricity if you touched its wounded surface, and

I asked

If all wounded things carried some static in their bones, and she mused that the men must've believed so if they visited her so late in the night, the streetlights reflecting in their car windows, and


She threw a brick at a jewelry store window, just to hear the glass shatter, because she thought that you could hear people shatter too, if you listened closely enough, and she said it was her favorite sound, because it was so



Human, so fragile, like glass, she said, grinding the broken shards of beer bottles beneath her red stilettos while saying something about how, ya know, everyone is some sort of tired— some in their bodies, others in their hearts—it's just hard to tell which sometimes, ya know, and the smoke coiled from the tip of the cigarette pressed between rouged lips, her last cigarette, she promised, because they've begun to remind her about pain, the way people spark your soul, inhale all that you are, and then toss you away when you have nothing left to give.

Hiking Challenge Day One: Mission Get Lost

Hiking Challenge Day One: Mission Get Lost

Seasonal Changes

Seasonal Changes