by Sarah Lampsa, Writer
She stands in a room.
Looks around.
The figures of her past, of her present, of the future in front of her; they’re all here, somewhere. Whether she wants them in the room or not, they are here. Giving her a million reasons why. Why can’t she listen? Why can’t the girl understand these words? They don’t seem to sink in. The barrier is built too tight; it runs too far deep for her cure to sink in.
They scream, they run, they motion. She screams back, afraid of what is ahead, but too far behind what is past. The point of no return has come, and she has stepped past the boundary. She lifts the border, and steps under.
They see her fall to her knees. Her head hits the concrete as she bleeds from her last wound, inhales her last sharp breath of pain. They cry. They mourn. The world can’t move on without her, as she thought they surely would. The world is broken, a 7-million-piece puzzle missing just one, therefore, incomplete. What has that piece been lost to? Those left behind will each fall to their own knees. Her world has crumbled, fallen. It will never be the same, never repaired. How can a system move on while missing a key part of the cycle? How can we each forgive the missing pieces of our star team?
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There is no answer.
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