Sunday, December 28, 2014

The promise

The observer was lying on her bed. Her eyes were squeezed shut. The only thing she could see was the darkness,  the missing light.
Her palm gently caressed the crescent shaped scars on her hand. They were scars that her nails had left on them, when she had buried them deep into her skin, past the protests that the pain made.  Like she wanted to claw out the evil that had embedded itself into the pores.
She shook her head, shook of the covers that she had cowered under.  She tried to push herself up. To get up again. To live again. She tried. But the strength left in the observer was not sufficient. Not enough to find her a better reason to look forward to a better future.  She wanted no future. She wanted no help, she wanted nothing more from a world that had given up on her.
The observer too had given up. The observer too had stopped trying.
She traced her fingers across her arms. Her spidery hands trailed the silvery scars that had found a home on them. She remembered the shark points that had gone swish swash across,  leaving behind much more than a thin trail of blood. They left behind relief, a feeling that justice had been served. That somehow,  some of her flaws had been rectified somehow.  That the wrongs had been turned right. But most of all it brought back sleep.  When the observer could finally close her eyes, the dull thud in her heart vaguely coinciding with the sharper throb across her limbs.
But now,  even the pain couldn't offer solace.  Even the pain had numbed itself. There was nothing left for the observer.  Until she turned and the portrait of a little girl caught her eye.
The girl was tiny, hardly two years old. But her tininess didn't in any way obscure her blinding smile. It was so pure, so innocent,  so happy. The little  girl had so much to look forward to.
And that was when the observer made a promise to the little girl. To find a reason to live.

The observer hasn't broken her vow.  

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