A Pair of Glasses

One

I always hated looking in the mirror.
I detested my reflection; the image of my pitiful and frail self, looking straight back at me with pity.

I vaguely remember the days of my early childhood.
I remember being cheerful and lively- my friends, my father and mother watching me with care and caressing me as I win a trophy in track and field.

Then it crashed.

One day I started coughing blood, I couldn't breathe nor think nor feel. It was scary.

I found out I couldn't run anymore without my body giving up and shutting down. The same happens when I jump, walk, or even stand too long.

My mother and father began distancing themselves, only coming into my room to have regular checks on me or scolding me for wandering around without supervision. The hospital my family owned was big. But it felt so lonely nonetheless.

Today, I found beautiful little butterflies- they were a pretty shade of violet, softly blending into its light blue accents.

To be honest, they almost seems like they emitted a warm glow... The small insects weren't afraid to sit on my hands; softly warming up my pale fingers.

But it must just be me. I must be going crazy.

Perhaps descending into madness isn't so bad.

All these trains of thoughts pass by, getting darker and darker with every waking moment. I listen to them until I fall asleep to the sound of rattling metal.