Discontinued pls don't read thanks
I'm not updating this anymore, though I might get back to it later. If I do then it'll be a full revamp, I'll be reworking everything because like I've said in the chapters that are up so far, I'm just experimentin...
When a vase breaks, its own shards tear up the delicate flowers in it. No matter how many times you try to put it back together, there will always be a missing piece, and the whole thing will come crashing down. Even if you do manage to put it back together, it will never be the same. There will be some missing fragments. The cracks will always decorate it. You can only fill it with new flowers, but the vase will always smell of the old ones that had always been there in it. No matter how beautiful the new flowers are, they can never replace the old flowers.
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He sat on his bed, staring at the locket in his hand. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks and onto his palm. He closed his fist around the locket and held it close, seeking some sort of warmth to thaw his cold life. Two years. Two years since the gunshots rang his ears. Two years since the sight of them pooled in blood painfully burnt itself deep into his heart. By now, he had planned to have gotten a job and have gotten Sherin out of the foster house as well. According to his plan, by now he should have been able to give Sherin the nice life that she deserved.
Instead, James had been staying at the rehabilitation center for two years now. He was alive, despite his many attempts to change that. All he felt was pain. Remorse. Guilt. His therapists and physiatrists were trying their best, but James was shattered beyond repair. He was like a broken vase.
All he wanted was to join them in whatever happened after death. He knew he didn't have anyone to miss him now that he's spent two years away from everything else, neither did he have anyone to live for. He just couldn't understand why the doctors insisted on keeping him alive in this hell hole.
He spent hours and hours staring at the stars he once showed Sherin. He still believed that she out there somewhere, she couldn't be dead. He still refused to believe that. He kept telling himself that some kind soul must have helped her, she's okay, she's doing just fine.
He knew that Sherin wouldn't want to see him like this, neither would his parents. With that thought, he tried to co-operate with his doctors sometimes, but it never lasted long enough for the therapies to actually have some effect. He always slipped back down into the black hole he was trying so desperately to climb out of.
He spent the rest of the day staring at his locket and the photos in it, tormenting himself more and more, ignoring the pitying glances the doctors and nurses gave him as usual.
If only he knew . . . If only . . .
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Explanation (Please read this) :
Here, I compared the broken vase to James, which was why I described it in the beginning. By the shards of the vase tearing up the delicate flowers, I meant that he tortured himself by blaming himself for Sherin and his parent's deaths. No matter what he does, there will always be marks of this trauma left in his mind [cracks will always decorate the vase]. New flowers [memories / better mental health] will never replace old ones, but are pretty in their own way. The vase will always smell of the old flowers [old memories and the trauma have left a permanent mark].
That's a brief explanation I felt I had to give, I hope it helped in case you didn't understand what I tried to say. I mean, there's more to what it means but this should help give you an idea of how to....decipher(?) the rest of it.
Also, this is where the plot starts getting unimaginably cliche.
