Shattered
Katie looked at the fragile ball in her hands. It was her grandmother’s. She can close her eyes and almost hear the woman’s voice, broken English, halting thoughts, translated from whatever language she originally spoke.
“My snow ball…no, globe… was given to me by bubbe. She said it tell story of life — the dots all dancing, bumping, moving, how easy it break, how we have choice and no choice, how fate make thing happen, how we can touch or not touch, lives, souls…”
Katie looked at the ball and the stone at her feet. She squeezed the globe tighter as she squeezed her eyes to stall a flood of emotion. She had listened and not listened, wished to close her ears and listened more carefully.
Fate was not kind. Life left no choices.
Katie let out a primal yell, and as she turned her back, water and dots flowed over the etched stone, jagged bits remained at the foot of the stone.
