Bruised and Scarred [short story]

Bonus Chapter: Glass

"i may not be liked, but i know i am loved."

[the tale of a girl with eyes of glass and a broken heart]

She was a butterfly. A butterfly fluttering fragile lavender wings, a tiny life that lay helpless in society's merciless hands.

She wasn't anything special. She was ordinary, just a faceless person blending into the rushing tide of people hurrying around. Yet, her eyes were like glass- fragile, and so easily broken. They shimmered in fright upon inspection, glistening with the emotions she refused to pour out. Then, they would glaze over, turning opaque under the intense scrutiny. That opaque wall was as impenetrable as a fortress, betraying none of the vulnerability before.

Yet, if anyone bothered to look, bothered to peer beyond that glass, they would see a world. A world of pain, of hurt, of betrayal- of trust broken again and again and again.

She used to be a baton twirler. A spectacular one at that. She would leap through the air, soaring as if suspended on invisible strings, all the while manipulating her baton seemingly effortlessly. She looked so graceful, so beautiful- that time, the world behind the glass showed only joy and wonderment at the beauty of the world.

But naturally, others were envious. They mocked her, teased her, and used all sorts of ways and means to push her down so far that she would never stand again. She lost the fire that has spurred her on. The mystery world slowly darkened, with grey streaks sloppily painted across its sewage-brown skies and a dismal hue cast across its once lush lands. The animals that used to flock there- the sheep, the rabbits, the foxes- soon fled, disappearing into a haze of despair and shadowy pain.

Still, despite her fall from grace, the torment continued.

Everyday, she went home in tears.

Everyday, she went home to scars.

Everyday, she went home to nothing but emptiness.

And when she finally did find hope- oh, he was so perfect, the fairytale prince she'd always dreamed of and hoped for- she began to feel again. She began to love, began to care, began to hope. For once, there seemed like there was more to the black and white world she was used to. Colours. Ruby red. Emerald green. Crystal blue. And the relief from all her pain, the blurred grey area between black and white.

The area where no one could hurt her.

With him, she was invincible, and it felt like she was always flying, always careening through the air screaming in ecstasy. She felt, for once, free. Completely, utterly, free.

Until that day. The day when she skipped out of her house, a genuine smile on her face and those dark red wedges she used to hate on her feet. She only stayed to see them kiss, before she fled, tears streaming down her face. Tears of betrayal, of hurt, of old wounds ripped open anew.

She didn't stay to see him pull away.

She didn't stay to see him slap her.

She didn't stay to see him run after her, desperate, like a battered firefly struggling to return home.

She didn't see the wild, panicked look in his eyes as he shoved her away, protecting her from the fatal impact of the truck.

She only saw him, blood pooling around him in scarlet roses, with his look of contentment as he passed away protecting his love.

His death devastated her, sure. For weeks, she holed up in her room, refusing to eat or go out. Her eyes became sunken hollows in her ashen face, and she resembled a living corpse.

It wasn't until her mother broke down crying in front of her that she woke up from her haze of despair and guilt.

It wasn't until she met him at the park that she saw hope again.

And now, she's married and with two children. She has a stable, albeit not very well-paying, job working as a doctor's assistant. Her husband is a lawyer, and although he isn't home very much, they still love each other unconditionally. Her daughter is halfway through her high school years, while her son is in college. Though she bickers with her daughter a lot, and she almost never sees her son, at the end of the day, they remain united, them against the world.

Through all the years, the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the agony, she's learnt a lot. Most of all, she's learnt that hope isn't something that can be obtained with a snap of the fingers, unlike what the fairytales lead you to believe.

Hope is something within us, something that may not appear sometimes, but will always remain in us, waiting patiently for thst little spark to set the hope alight.

Hope, while weak sometimes, is everlasting. And although it doesn't feel like it, we are always hoping, always wishing, just waiting for the right moment.

To hope, is to love. And that love will open our hearts, freeing the caged bird within to roam the lands and feel the pure beauty and joy of being alive.

Freedom, unlike what she previously thought, isn't something that can be given or taken. Freedom is everywhere, and it just depends on whether we're willing to catch it. Freedom is the happiness you feel when your glass-encased world isn't dreary anymore, when rainbows grace its azure skies and animals bound gloriously across the verdant lands.

She is happy.