Running With Scissors

When you were a child, you were scolded on a regular basis. No matter what you did, or tried, or persuaded, nothing was good enough, regardless of whether you were spoilt or not. Rules were a common thing, expounded upon you until you were sure their words were tattooed to your forehead. ‘Don’t touch the stove.’ ‘Don’t play with matches.’ ‘Don’t run with scissors.’

Parents tried to protect their children from harm as a whole. Keeping them as safe as possible was a must, if you had parents at all, that is. They wished to keep you naive, to shield you from the horrors of the world. However, this could not last forever. Rules were made to be broken, after all, and the image of a perfect world is shattered easily. You're left in darkness and despair, struggling to find your footing on a constantly changing landscape.

I like to imagine that I’m beyond that shady state. That I’ve finally found purchase on the slippery land, that I’ve moved on from confusion and am now in the state they call ‘happiness.’ However, in reality, this is not true. I’m still feeling out the territory, trying to dig myself from the pit I’ve inflicted on myself.

I’m still running with scissors.

~'~'~

©TheYardstick 2013

All rights reserved-Steal my characters, my plot, etc., and I have the right to strangle you. With a twizzler. And believe me, I will.

The fabulous cover is made by WeCameWithTheHorizon.