Inachevé

Twenty-Eight - The Light Under the Door

Darkness.  What other words could sum up his life.  Terror.  Terror of what?  Himself.  Fear.  Fear of leaving behind everything he had done to get him to where he was.  Where was he?  In his own fight against misery.  Happiness.  What was happiness?  A stranger that stood and mocked him.  Or was it his lack of confidence that decieved him of happiness.  The only thing that gave him tempary pleasure was the touch of the blade and the breath of powerder stimulant to remind him how pathetic he was.  Love.  What was love?  Love did not exist for him.  No, love was just the fantasy of living happily.  He was given no love.  Had no parents to tell him his worth and to remind him that he was a light in the world.  Had no friends to tell him not to give up.  Had no young woman to touch him at his lonlinest or kiss him at his happiest. 

There was a dull light in his eyes, the one that led down a destructive path of confusion, hate, and misery.  His jaw was set strong and rebellious, yet fragile and ready to quiver whenever his feelings were pricked.   His flesh was hardened from the hatred he had inflicted on himself by the use of rods and ropes.   His muscles strong from beating his fists bloody on the walls of his darkened room.   His clothes soiled from carelessness and his shoes worn from kicking the wooden floor. 

Oh!  If only his empty, souless heart could be saved.  Oh, if someone would hear his silent cries for love.  If only someone was bold enough to wrap their arms around him and tell him that he was loved and cherished.  If only.  If only.  Yet, if the boy turned his swelled red eyes to the crack underneath his closed door, he would see a shimmering Light, waiting to fill his life if he only opened the door.  If the boy could only find the courage and take the risk of allowing an unknown world to enter his mindless territory, he would experience everything he had been looking for.  He would experience the Breath of Life.

Original written in July 2, 2011