All the Pretty Little Horses Part 1

Story

                They say time heals everything. This is not true in all cases, for sometimes it only makes things worse.

“It’s okay” people say, “You’ll be fine eventually.”

Reasonable, but full of ignorance. They don’t get it, and they probably never will. I wouldn’t want them to feel this way, but I don’t want them to act like they know. They seem as if they understand, as if they have had such experiences before and know how to help. But they don’t, not in the least. They can’t feel what I feel.

This agony is inside my heart, a fault forming between my ventricles. I am being ripped apart, splitting in two. The family I loved, the decision I had to make. I never knew what hit me. The cracks didn’t stop at my heart. They spread through my body, infecting everything with a vicious disease. It had created a sickened soul, nothing left untouched in its path for destruction and violation. I was merely a shattered mirror.

There were still shards of me, but I could not be put back together. Every time I tried, or anyone else for that matter, the shards cut deep down into the skin. I couldn’t be saved. The only way to stop the infection would be to rip my beating heart, leaving an empty void. Even then, it might still be too late. With each breathe I take, my heart shatters even more of me, spreading the deadly virus through my veins.

I don't know how my body still hung on, even after it had been crushed under the plague. For now, I was still alive and lucid. Sometimes it would overwhelm me, and I would sit on my bed drawing ragged gasps. These times were so excruciating, I wished I didn’t have a heart to begin with. Tears came unbidden to my cheeks in the beginning, ones that were warm and tasted of saline. But as the night gave way, the weeping ceased. All that was left was the fiery hot suffering.

It would well up in those cracks, searing deeper holes. There is no other way to describe it, for it is nothing like I have ever felt before. But still, these times are the only thing I have to look forward to. At least then, I feel something. There are days I am numb, only a shell of who I used to be.

I can’t feel anything, not even the fear at being this way. These are the days that I would wish for anything painful, for the shards to hurt me again. For then, I would at the very least feel alive. Nobody who thinks themselves wise truly knows the pain, not until they’ve done what I’ve done. The sacrifices I’ve made, the ones of the others. I know about this world, and just how unfair it really is. The question I ask is, do they?

They see me as inexperienced, one who needs to be taught. They view me with a thinly veiled pity, thinking themselves better. They will never realize the cold, merciless environment our society is. But I don’t need their pity, or their useless advice. They think they know more, that they understand the situation and know just what to do.

People like me can’t be helped by someone like them, if we can be at all. I already know more than they can imagine, and I do what I have to do to survive. I take what I can, and use it to the best of my advantage. I’m sorry if you get hurt, but it isn’t my job to coddle you. Sooner or later, you will have to face the facts in life.

If you don’t do what is necessary to keep living, even if you just barely keep your head above water, then there is no place for you in this world. I can’t help you understand, I don’t have enough time. But right now, I’ll ask you a simple request.

Don’t give me advice, don’t act as if you understand, and don’t try to “fix” me. There is no instrument in your toolbox that can magically stop my nightmares from becoming my reality.

So don’t try to tell me I’ll be fine. Don’t look at me with pity. Just stay out of my way while you continue to live in your delusional fantasy world.

And last but not least, don’t tell me time heals everything.