Falling Down

Falling Down

By Melanie E.

A story written in the posting window for BCTS.

-==-

Kayley looked down at the sidewalk in front of her apartment complex and tried her best not to cry.

She failed.

There, strewn across the concrete, were all the things that had ever mattered to her. Her computer, now nothing but a smashed pile of electronic debris. Movies, books, records, and her clothes. Not just the male clothes that she was forced to wear every day; HER clothes. The ones she had kept hidden away in her travel case, and only ever allowed herself to wear when in the safety of a hotel room on business trips, or on long weekends when her wife would dash off on her own.

The clothes that meant more to her than the thousands of dollars in other property strewn about.

The clothes that had been sliced, splattered with paint, and torn apart before being tossed down.

She tried the intercom for what she was already thinking of as her past-tense apartment. Though she could still hear the screaming and violence within the room through the open window, her calls yet again received no answer.

An answer wasn't needed. She knew that the life she'd had was over.

Kayley spent that night in her car, and the next couple of days looking for a new apartment. She dried her tears as best she could, though they still got the best of her at times. She tried her best to move on, though, despite the pain, and tears, and loss.

She'd fallen hard for the woman she loved, and had tried to be the person she'd wanted. She'd hoped that she would continue to fall forever, but instead, she'd finally found the bottom, and the impact had been almost more than she could bear.

But that's the thing about falling: there's only one thing you can do after it happens.

Pick yourself back up.

-==-

I've been going through a bit of a manic-depressive period the last couple of weeks -- okay, probably more like last few months -- and for some reason I was just inspired to write this tonight. I feel -- a lot -- like the world crashes down around me, and that nothing ever wants to go the way it should. Still, some times picking up the pieces of yourself after you've been shattered time and again is all you can do. Often the glue can't hold the pieces together, and you'll shatter again and again. But sometimes... sometimes, you'll find that safe place where you can lay your broken down to rest, just for a bit, without breaking again. Sometimes, you can even fix a part of yourself for good.

Everybody is broken or shattered in some way. Finding the way to preserve what you can, and make the best of your broken pieces, is about all you can hope for.



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This story is 488 words long.