Woodsaw

Just wanted to be happy…

Indiscriminate anger raged in his chest as he cursed himself after wasting a quarter of his life endlessly chasing things. Going after people not wanting him, unapologetic, his thoughts, now part of an ethereal plane — he saw himself as a red glowing apparition with dull blue hair and white eye sockets which burned like a supernova, equally bright and apocalyptic. A black effervescent liquid created rivers across his grinning countenance. It was as if the image was a photographic negative, in color and in emotion.

Dead sparks flew around him as he saw a wood-saw in his hands, blood dripping from it creating dark puddles on the white floor in which he saw his murky reflection.

An epiphany struck him. He cut out his heart with the saw unflinchingly as shards and dust came out of it. The hole was clean. Carved out. Like the heart was not alive. Like he was not alive. The slivers of his heart cut his hands in places as he held his beating heart in his palm, a gooey liquid oozed onto his wrists. The constant echo of the beats told him that he is still capable of emotion and love. He knew otherwise..

As the alarm noise stung the air, he woke up — tired but clear-headed.

He finally knew how to deal with loss…