>•~Falling Upwards~•<

Chapter Twenty One~ Bad Decisions

A/N: btw the "poem"/ letter down below was for a project that I also had fit in for C's pov :3

I hope you enjoy it!!

——

Dear anyone who needs to hear this:

We often hear of kindness towards others;
This could be helping another clean up their mess,
Whether that be spilled pens, or an issue in their life,
Or even just a smaller act of kindness,
Like complimenting a stranger,
As you pass by.

However, being kind to ourselves
Is just as important —
If not more so than to another.
If a tree with broken limbs,
Had tried to lift another up,
That would do no good, and they would both crumble down.

So, be kind to yourself.
Do not let yourself get all beaten up,
While being caught up in the bliss of another person's mess.
If your only goal,
Is to help and show kindness towards others,
You cannot achieve that until you show it to yourself.

Do not just slap a bandaid,
Over a fresh wound,
And then after a few moments,
Rip that off and say that you are fine.

The same follows,
When you fall down,
And scrape your knee.
After sometime,
A scab will begin to follow where you had fallen.

If you were to,
Immediately scratch it off,
Well then, what would be the purpose of that scab?
It had not done its job,
Since you cut it off.

Again, another one would come in,
As your body tries to heal itself,
As it tries to show kindness,
Towards where it had been hurt.

To just continue,
To scratch,
And itch,
And scratch,
The scab off,
Would be a waste.

You only get,
One life,
So treat it with kindness;
Do not bang yourself up,
And then proceed to limp out,
To go help another.

To help another;
To show kindness towards another,
You must first show it,
Towards yourself.

*~*

(Sometime later, at some night)

~C~

I sit on charcoal. My charcoal bed. That's what remains, after all. That's what all of the hard work has accounted for. Just some ashes.

However, now we sit on charcoal. This is our charcoal bed. We are stuck in this together, whether we enjoy that idea, or not. There is nothing we can do to reverse time, and stop what happens. Nor is there just any way to stop that at all.

Well, besides killing the other.

Then again, company is better than being left alone.

I really shouldn't believe that there is only April and I. After all, we still have these old stoney walls. Now they are pitch black. However, when I trail my fingers along them, I swipe away some of the debris. I can draw again!

Before I draw, I take note of what is left. I should not just discard all of this. There is really a lot left. I just have to teach myself on where to look for this.

I see the old door. The one which had kept April and I safe. It is only half-there; the other half has been burnt off, and crumbled down. I must thank it for protecting us. It kept us from those bitter, harshly glaring flames with their rough green eyes.

All hope is not lost! After all, we are not dead. After all, after all, after all. I can find myself tripping a lot in my own words and thoughts. I play on repeat at times. It is a little bit funny, or it is to me.

I wonder why we didn't burn out in the flames. I know that door saved us. I just can't grasp how it did not eat through it, and get to us. Especially after it ate everything else here. Someone must have been looking out for us.