To Capture A Heart

𝑂𝑁𝐸

PRESENT

One, two, three.

Steady hits on the leather bag.

Sweat is plastered along my body as I bring a leg up and kick the bag so hard it falls right off the chain.

Good.

The floorboards creek when I make my way past the screen door and follow the pathway carved from stone.

Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, I scoop up some water from the lake and look at my reflection.

It amazes me how much I've changed.

The eyes that once we're softened and always dancing with excitement have now turned to a cold box of ice.

My brown hair was now cut to my shoulders and frizzy against the humid air.

My face has grown small wrinkles around my eyes and a vein running through my forehead, which I like to think is the anger I always have fueled up.

I run my hands through my hair and take a seat on the feathery grass, that's been caked in flowers.

Sometimes my favorite thing to do is just sit here for hours and listen to the silence in my head.

But it's not comfortable silence.

Sometimes I think about the world. How it's doing. What are people up to? Is everything still the same from when I left it?

Because out here, where there's a lake and miles of grass and trees, I don't know anything that goes on.

So before I came here, I was homeless for some time. Grazing through woods and setting up camp where all I could think about was getting my hands on some food.

Now about two years ago, I trailed along with this abandoned cottage and made it my home. Planting flowers and learning how to catch fish for a dinner.

God, I feel like one of those nature freak people.

Sometimes I think about the old me when I let myself.  It either ends up with gripping my hair and sobbing on the bathroom floor or I'm punching things to get my rage out of me.

I don't think it was self-improvement that made me where I am. I think it's from having nothing and finally excepting I'm shattered.

Wanna know how I know?

Three years ago I was walking down the street and caught sight of a cat running through the road.

The driver slammed on the breaks, but it wasn't enough.

The cat died.

And I just stood there. Watching and focused on the limp body and the bruised whines coming from it.

The worst part was I couldn't feel sad.

I couldn't feel anything.

And later at night, I allowed a tear to fall because I'm so scared I'll never be able to feel a damn thing again.

It's the worst feeling, being numb. Like you'll never smile again and your heart is detached from your body that you supposedly call your own.

Standing up, I brush my hands against my black pants and make my way inside.

My body has gotten more fit over the years of kicking the shit out of the bag and doing push-ups on my wooden floor.

Abs have appeared and a good amount of muscle has coaxed my arms.

There's nothing to do out here but work out. I also was able to get my hands on a dagger I found a couple of years ago.

So now I pull on my black wraps, tightening them around my wrist and making sure my knuckles are protected.

I pick up the dagger, readjust the bag on the chain and start stabbing it.

My motions were swift.

My back arches when I turn and kick it from underneath.

My hair sways in its ponytail and my baby hairs glistening with sweat.

Every day I wake up and repeat the same thing over and over again.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow everything will change.

***
YES IK SHORT CHAPTER. They'll be way longer very soon