EXPRESSION.

Walking around the cold, wooden floors in the forbidden place I had to call my home. I stared down at my feet to only visualise the broken pieces that lay before me. A forgotten story that may never be told. Several questions occurred through my mind, but I knew that they would remain unanswered.

A mirror, that remained shattered. Just like the silence that never used to occur. My life was only a big memory, like I was a part of the shattered glass pieces that would reflect back, the only light that shine through the dirty, half broken window in the middle of the corrugated wood that was holding the half built walls. The floor was like walking on cardboard, where your feet would just slowly sink in and cause it to crumble. In the corner, was placed a bookshelf. It was full of cobwebs and the books that lay on the shelf, were dusty and old. There were holes in the corners of the house and cracks in the half burnt floor, the roof was barely there and was always leaking, causing puddles to occur all over the floor, it was kind of like a toddlers swimming pool, only smaller, but only smaller. There was never really too much light when the sun would come out. But when it did, I would always hide away in the broken corner, where all the silence was. I bet you nobody would want to live here. But I've lived here since I was a child, since my mother left to be a nurse, since my father left to go off to fight for our country, became a soldier, to go to war. And my nana... well she was taken, well captured, and possibly killed by ISIS. The only thing I remember about my brothers and sisters is, well, my family and I were all playing card games on the smallish coffee table in the middle of the living room. We were all so happy, playing a family card game of, the classic card game known as 'snap'. Within the last hour of laughter and enjoyable moments together, I realised it would never be like this again, nor would be it happen ever again, so I thought. I remember a loud noise occurring, I think it was the door being barged down. I was yelled at by my guardian to get under cover and stay somewhere safe, like the basement. That was my first thought. Within the last few seconds I saw my guardian being taken. I closed my eyes then opened them again, I was disgusted as to what I had seen, I wanted to help, but I was only young, what could I have possibly have changed to help anyone? So I ran downstairs with tear-filled eyes towards the basement. I thought my brothers and sisters were following me, but they weren't.

The basement had walls that were thick, and basically un-breakable and bullet proof, so maybe indestructible is the better word to use. The bombs and explosions that occurred that night were what killed my little brothers and older sisters. How my "house" is so torn. They were hiding inside their rooms under the bed, the first place any of us would hide in a good game of hide and go seek. My family really was all fun and games most of the time, and I loved it. I was just a child then. I miss it, a lot. I knew I was safe here but I was alone. I've never experienced what feeling alone was really like, it's quite depressing. But I still chose to live here, how could I leave? The old basement, it's so old it's starting to fade and the lightbulb has blown, I can't pay for it to be replaced. I'm not exactly... rich. The souls and voices all join me here, so maybe I'm not alone, although I felt it. Upstairs there still lies the walls that are slowly shattering and turning into the wreckage that's part of the broken house I live in. smashed windows, and burnt photographs. I had nobody. I couldn't pay for my own education so I wasn't exactly 'smart' either. Life really wasn't easy.

I looked down to see a feather that lay beneath the broken glass pieces from the mirror I had hanging on the wall of the cold concreted basement. It was hung by the door that lay snapped on the ground and off its hinges. I picked up the feather, and was looking at its structure. My expression would change every time I turned the feather or thought of it, because I was so curious as to of what this actually is and where it came from. Maybe some kind of bird? Is that what they are called? I wish I could fly. Isn't there freedom, and much to enjoy up there? All I've seen is ducks being shot during hunting season, it's not pretty. They join the birds I've seen with broken wings, and no tweet. It was quite an interesting thing, it was a soft blue colour but in the light it had a slight green colour to it. I thought about the several small strands that would have been woven to make this little feather. I thought there was only one, but there was a trail. Leading to the only corner with the bits of sunlight revealing the trails of fluff and dust mixed into the rubble. I scuffed the glass across the floor to the other side of the room. A little cut on my foot was all it took. Who ever knew that glass could be so sharp? The fine tipped corners and razor sharp ends. That's how it goes nowadays. The feathers and glass made no sense, I swear, there had to be a reason it was put this way. Was it a sign from god? A sign from my parents? A sign from someone? What did it mean? The glass cleared a pathway for my bony legs to walk. I looked anorexic. I hadn't eaten properly in over a month, I suppose I could be dead by now. Along with bare feet and ragged clothing, it proved I wasn't very rich at all. The thin pieces of glass were hard to pick up because they would slowly cut into my flesh, under the soft arches that remain part of my feet. And the thin, long and bony fingers on the ends of my palms. I felt as if though I didn't belong here, like I was still missing something.

To this point, I could hear voices. They were telling me to follow them. I didn't know where I was going to end up. I was scared. "Come with me Skylar." "Skylar" "come with me" it was always said in a high pitched but low and annoying voice. I miss her. The feather reminded me of a memory I once had, me and my family were out on the lake, where we were going duck shooting. This was basically one of the only things that I knew I had to do... aim. The feather reminded me of the one duck that I had actually shot. And my mother ran over to me towards me to deliver a big hug, she was so proud and happy. It's the happiest I've ever seen her. The feather reminded me of the one she used to dip in ink and write letters and poems that would make me laugh, and turn out to be the perfect bed time story. The best kind of fantasy.

Maybe this was what the glass was meaning, all of the memories I need to remember. Every time I looked over, or stared into a piece of glass, my reflection would be the only thing staring back, telling me I need to remember this moment in time. I remember I used to have people over when I was a kid, because I actually had friends. I miss those days. But I couldn't go five minutes without looking into a mirror. It was always special. Obviously, the whole time it's been trying to tell me something. The way my self-image would stare back at me, while I was lying in bed staring at the blank white wall in front of me. I enjoyed those days. But now it's all gone. Maybe that's why it shattered. It all started to make a bit of sense. The pieces, I had to pick them up. To be able to continue, maybe I'll get better. I'll be able to be strong enough to go outside to watch the kids play on the swings. To grow enough strength to find a job and get my body back up right. To keep on trying. But then again. This may be the end...of my story. Maybe you have broken pieces you need to fix? Slowly pick up the pieces and maybe they will re-connect.