Amongst the Waves

I stared emptily at the scene before me. The broken lamps, the cracked plaster along the ceiling. Glass had shattered and spilled all over the floor, and yet I hadn't made a move for the dust pan. I was too afraid I'd step on the glass and actually feel something. I was lost, drowning in a sea of my own thoughts, the whirlpools pulling me under.

You'd think that this destruction would have been caused by my mother's hand, but it was mine and mine alone. She had come and gone, dissapointment and pity in her eyes, and I just couldn't take it. She had Sanchez in one hand, her purse in the other. When the door finally slammed close, it was like a bucket of cold water over my head. I was alone. She had finally given up on her child.

Who could blame her? I had given up on myself ages ago.

Racked with guilt and frustration, I had torn everything apart in my small apartment. Did I neglect to mention that I had set the place on fire? Oh, sorry. There I go again.

I should have kept my job. I should have saved more money. I should have stayed at college. I should have considered my future. I should have stayed with Van.

My regrets were suffocating me, and I'd rather it be that way. Suffering would fall upon me, because it was deserved. It seems like everyone I come into contact with, I destroy from the inside out, like lethargic poison.

Within a couple days, I would be evicted, gone, on the streets. I couldn't expect anyone to save me. I'd be a memory. So why not speed up the process?

There had been some knocking at the door soon after I had ransacked the apartment, most likely the landlord.

Leave me alone, I wanted to tell them, let me wither away in peace. But I couldn't form the words.

The knocking gave way to pounding, and soon the wooden door began to crack at the center. Someone started to scream at the top of their lungs, but I could barely make it out over crackling of fiery timber. They would probably rob me, kill me, rape me. It didn't matter. None of it did. I had nothing of value, considering I had smashed everything to pieces. And my body? As useless as my soul. These weak bones were for naught else than rotting. Or burning.

I could see myself in the reflect of the broken shards of glass, and I was fraught with nausea. I had wished I could sleep it all away, that it would feel better in the morning. Perhaps, that was a fool's dream. It could never be that easy. I mean, I was awake.

Either way I'm going to hell.

The door finally gave way after sometime, and a figure emerged before me through the smoke. Sweat beaded along my eyebrows as red-orange flames danced around my feet. They shook my shoulders to shake some sense into me, but I was far from such things. My body was scooped up into their awaiting arms, and I was rushed from my home. The rush of clean air triggered an uncontrollable coughing fit; it made the inside of my throat raw, and brought tears to my eyes.

Sometimes I feel like life is too much for me.