"Think you can take me?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Are you doubting me?" She answered.
//
Natalie Perkins, born in London. The FBI is after her for the assassination of fourteen men. All of them brutally murdered one day of the week, all of them left wi...
And I'm too in my head So I'm sorry if this makes no sense But the doors still open If you want to take another chance
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Broken glasses have cutting edges. Cutting edges produce severe damage. Severe damage causes pain. Pain.
I was a broken glass with cutting edges that produced severe damage and caused pain. In simpler words, I wasn't someone you could fix. If someone did try to fix me, they ended up getting severely damaged with my cutting edges, all of this leading them to suffer pain. That was why no one tried to fix me anymore. Not that I wanted to be fixed anyways.
Not now, not ever.
Even so, sometimes I got tired of having a phone and not using it. Of having spare nights with no one to go out with. Of drinking alone. Of living like a depressed fifty year old man. I wasn't a depressed fifty year old man. Maybe I was depressed, but I was twenty six and had plenty of time ahead of me.
Still, if someone had to fix me, that would be myself.
I had realized life wasn't always fair, but I couldn't relapse on alcohol and cigarettes every time something bad happened. I had to get my shit together, which was scattered all across an empty football field. I had to walk through it, picking up every single thing that belonged to me. Maybe I would get tired of walking, but my stuff was waiting to be collected and it was my job to do that, though I needed them to wait because, how am I supposed to run if I lost my legs a long time ago?
My strength to fly had left together with my wife. She used to be my light; the girl with a sunshine glow, the girl who knew all of my secrets, the girl whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life with,the girl I loved. But she decided she was done with me and simply walked out of my life wearing a white dress and kitten heels.
I guess she didn't love me as I thought she did.
My only wire to earth was my sister. Gemma Styles, hell of a lady. She had always been the type of person that worried about the environment and social problems like rights for black people, abortion, respect for the LGBTQ+ community and stuff, things I honestly couldn't give a shit about. I'm not against them, I just don't really care. The world ends tomorrow, so what.
Anyways, back to the point. When she turned fifteen, she started charity campaigns for kids in Africa that had no food, water, households or clothing. At eighteen, she had already been active in more than fifty three campaigns, all of them for different purposes. At twenty four, she joined an NGO on god knows what. Then, when she turned twenty six, she started focusing on bigger problems involving the law, such as abortion and rights for LGBTQ+ and black people. I admired her, even if she chose topics I didn't care about.
Gemma was good to everyone, especially to me. She always said I was her favourite person ever and that she loved me. Then, when she started traveling, I stopped seeing her. She texted me once a week to make sure I hadn't killed myself or something, and she had always been the reason I was still on ground and not underground.
