Flash Fiction / Vagabond
The sky blistered red with each step I took on the cool wet pavement. The balls of my feet were sore from standing in those pretty silver shoes that gave me such confidence and composure. These flip-flops don’t support the facade like the heels do, but they speak volumes. Each step another piece of advice to keep me stringing along this mindless, empty path toward a place I call home.
Keep-on-mar-ching-you-are-heal-ing-step-by-step-you-will-be-strong-er.
-—--
“Hey Ashley! Haven’t seen you out in a while!”
“God, those shoes are gorgeous!”
“You look absolutely stunning!”
“What’s the occassion?”
I’m proud of you, kid. You held it together out there. Nice fake smile, nice fake laugh. You stole the show, dear!
Apparently my desperation manifests itself beautifully. I’ve mastered the techniques of camouflaging tear-weary eyes. I’ve faked myself enough to know what sells and what doesn’t. It’s not hard when you don’t even know who you are. Every moment is a show- every mood a new character, every dilemma a new scene.
But then it hits home.
You arrive back at yourself and find the pieces, bloody and bruised, scattered across the threshold of what used to be your identity. You set up shop in a place that wasn’t rightfully yours, but invited you in anyway. It trusted you in it’s china closet and you accommodated fine for over a year. But then you started asking questions and the space got more cramped, and you turned around too suddenly and broke the gold-laced glass heart on the top shelf. My one mistake.
Apology after apology after attempt after attempt and nothing changed. One strike and you’re out this time.
“But this is the best thing I’ve ever had! I love this! I need this! I’m sorry!”
“You had your chance, it’s over.”
Now I stare down at the broken bits and have to accept that this is it. I have to pick up and reassemble and move on, a vagabond of my own mistakes. No hope for a future, no means to an end. I did everything I could, and I failed. It’s not as simple as a course to retake. It’s painful and jarring and gut-wrenching to realize that everything you built your life around, your future around, your world around has shattered into a million tiny pieces that have no value for restoration. It’s my own fault, I know. I don’t deny that. All I asked for was a chance – not now, just eventually – another go to prove myself. Another go to make amends. Another go to rebuild and refresh and remember why I love you.
-—--
The night fades from red to blue to black above me, freckled with stars and halos of street lamps. I’ve run out of tears from the past nights that faded me. I let it go again with the wind and I tread over it through the crispy leaves. The only hope I have left is to put myself back together and move on. I’m not okay, but that’s alright. I’m still a bag of body parts, but that’s alright. I’ll be a painful work in progress for a while, but that’s alright.
I’ll still be where you left me, and that’s alright. But I’m growing here, and I’m learning here, and I’ll be strong as steel before you know it. I’ll prove it since my word is null and void. I’ll be here.
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“bloody and bruised” is over used in writing. I would try to replace it with something that more accuratly describes what your charachter is feeling. That paticular paragraph is very strong and vivid so adding that extra orginal bit will make it all the more amazing.
I was a tad confused about what was going on. Maybe I am a bit dense but I needed a little more explanation. Try to set the scene up a little more.
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