The world around us

Story #3~A new Morning (2021)

If you want to fly in the sky, you need to leave the earth. If you want to move forward, you need to let go the past that drags you down.

~Amit Ray

Withering roses lay between shattered pieces of glass, dark splotches staining the wooden floor. The apartment is cold, the lights turned off. The pitter-patter of the autumn rain against the dirty window pane being the only thing audible.

In the bedroom, crumpled pieces of tissues litter the floor and bed. A small figure lies in the corner, curled together in a bathrobe. Her dark blonde hair curls around her head in greasy clumps, the tears on her lightly freckled cheeks are dried after crying nonstop for two days. The phone clutched tightly in her hand is dead, just like her heart. Or so it feels.

Finally, after spending an eternity on the hard floor, she finally lifts her head. Everything aches and her body yells at her to lie back down. But she stands shakily. She looks around at the mess she made, sighs, then slowly makes her way to the wooden nightstand to get a charging cable. She glances at the clock.

3:48 am. The glowing digits are the only thing she can make out in the dark room. She sighs and heads towards the bathroom after searching the cupboard in the dark. She bumps into a wall and furniture on the way, doesn't bother switching on lights.

Once in the bathroom, she hesitates, but then presses a button. Instantly, the fluorescent lights flicker to life. She winces, the glow hurting her eyes after an eternity in the dark. She closes her eyes to relieve the pain of the bright lights, but as soon as she shuts her eyes, she sees him again.

She wrenches her eyes open, not wanting to remember the his soothing voice, his sudden smiles that always lighted up the room, the way his hands used to caressed her cheek. She was not ready yet, needed time to forget. But how long?

Her eyes finally adjusted to the bright glow and she could make out the reflection in the mirror staring back at her.

Murky dark eyes, red from crying, stare back at her. Her skin is pale, as if she were a ghost, her lips cracked and dry. At least she didn't have a new pimple resting on her forehead.

Sighing, she splashes water into her face, too lazy to wash it and heads into the kitchen. In the hallway, she steps on something and winces. Looking down, she recognizes a broken shard of glass blood -her blood- she realizes with a start, quickly painting the glass a bright red.

Too tired to curse or even clean up the broken vase from that night, she carries on into the kitchen. There, she fetches a glass from the shelf and pours herself some wine. Her dry throat aches, grateful for the drink. She gets a lighter from the cupboard and heads outside, onto the balcony.

Even though it's a early and raining, the street below her is still full of cars honking and beeping. She lights up a cigarette and takes a deep drag. Seven years ago, she promised him to quit smoking, knowing that it was bad for her health. In spite of that, she kept on secretly killing her lungs for three years, until one day, he found out and told her to stop or he would leave her. They'd just moved in together, and being the naive young girl who was hopelessly in love, she quit her one vice for once and for all, in exchange for him never leaving her side.

Three years later and he still left. And for what? A girl who was seven years younger than her and fresh out of high school? A girl who was working as an exotic dancer, with hopes of becoming an actress? Who had more sugar daddies than friends?

Of course, she'd had her doubts when he introduced her as a friend from a summer camp he'd attended when she was 14. She had looked old enough, with all that makeup. So why did she still trust him to be at a business dinner all those nights when he came home late, or not at all? When he cancelled their date nights for business trips and projects?