Men have different capacities and react differently to stress. But the stronger ones raised up the weaker ones, and both became stronger in the process.
•nelson mandela•
I put my coat on, shoved my hands in my pockets and left the cafe and its bruise-coloured walls behind.
I walked along the streets, not really going anywhere.
I was lost, not physically, but mentally.
I wandered into a bookstore, and into the corner at the back. It had a small red love-seat, unoccupied. The dust in the air floated around as golden specks in the strong sunlight, beautiful, free and careless.
I envied the little dust specks, but I couldn't envy them. I couldn't.
I couldn't be jealous of people who have everything or have what they want. They don't know about the truly horrible things in life, and they think that little things like running out of mudcake is a horrible thing.
Which I suppose means that I have nothing to be jealous of, because I have problems and they have problems, different completely but not in their effect.
In a way, I was a little dust particle, floating aimlessly and waiting to be sucked up by something big and full of darkness, or waiting for some bigger thing to wash me in light and make me beautiful, free and golden.
But I couldn't be envious of someone having exactly the same as me.
It wasn't possible.
But neither was being washed in light.
I was too dark for that, too broken for that.
_
Oh my goodness, munchkins, this is amazing to write. I love writing this so much. Hope you enjoy it too!
_wolfbell
YOU ARE READING
Bruises
Teen FictionOlivia has been abused by her brother all her life, and she has the bruises and burns to show it. When she makes a stand and moves out, she meets a boy; a wonderful boy. But the two boys, brother and lover, are connected, and Olivia is scared. Sc...
