Tales of a Dreamer

Shattering Rooms

She stands in a room.

The walls are falling.

The mortar crumbles between the bricks and they fall. Slowly at first, then cascading down upon the floor.

She scrambles around on her knees, gathering up the broken pieces. She attempts to put them back into their old shape, but she fails. The bricks fall crashing to the ground, harder than before.

The nails in the opposite wall melt causing the wood to fall with a loud thump to the ground. She rushes over to gather up a pile of wood, carful not to get any splinters, not to take away any part of the wall. The new wall would need every bit of its old self to stay up. She sets to work on the new wall, but accomplishes nothing.

All the walls break down in a similar manner. She tries to fix every wall, but to no avail. She gathers up the scraps of the walls, muttering to herself "I can fix it, I can help." She treks back to the brick wall and attempts at fixing it again. As she stacks the bricks over and over, but they continues to fall, she begins to cry.

She drops to the floor, her hands bruised from the bricks, but for no reason. She accomplished nothing.

Then the roof starts to fall. The tiny scraps slowly get bigger and mix with the scattered remains of the walls. She rushes to the middle of the room, knowing she can do nothing.

Soon large chunks of the roof begin to fall. She glances up to see one coming down right above her. It bounces off a couple feet above her head. She's in a glass box.

She's safe in her glass box.

Safe from the horror around her.

She sits down, pulling her knees to her chest, and she weeps. If it was from relief, she did not know. She only knew that she was weeping from the destruction of the perfect house with all its perfect parts.

It felt wrong that she was safe. Safe in her perfect box. Safe with her perfect family. With her perfect little life. It felt so wrong.

She only ever had tiny chips made in her glass box, because the boy she liked didn't talk to her, or her friend said something that hurt her. Although the marks looked big at the time, as life went on, she gained perspective.

Her dad did not have cancer. Her mom did not have heart problems. Her parents were not going through a divorce. Her grandpa did not just die. Her parents were not overly controlling. Her house did not get broken into.

She is safe in her box and has everything she needs, yet she cries. Cries at the brokenness around her. Cries at the pain those closest to her must go through. Cries that she can't take their pain away. Cries that she cannot do anything to help them. Cries at the injustice in the world around her.

She has her perfect parents, her perfect brother, her perfect family. Her perfect little life in a heartbroken world.

It seems so wrong. She hates it, but knows she shouldn't. She should value it, but she can't.

With so much pain around her, how can she enjoy her perfect life?

Her house is crumbling and there's nothing she can do to stop it.