The pieces don't fit anymore

She sits quietly by herself on an old wooden desk that once belonged to her grandmother, the light of the candle grows faint as it’s on its last breath, casting a darkened shadow on her thoughts.

The words like notes from a piano concerto echoes deeply within her soul, she can feel the words come alive as it grasps for meaning, for understanding. Not much of this life makes sense; we blindly follow and yet crave to take the road less travelled. Dreams of mosaic colors illuminates the night skies with thoughts of what if’s and if only.

It’s almost time, she thinks quietly to herself, she needs to be brave now. Sometimes we need to be. She writes faster and faster with even more conviction and urgency, her blue pen being grasped tightly cuts deep into her paper, almost cutting into her grandmother’s table, but she writes faster still. A deadening silence fills the room as the candle disappears into itself.

Absorbed by hate and regret she gently lowers her head unto her open hands and weeps.  Tears fall like hot ashes on her torn paper burning through her written words. Its not too late she mutters to herself, trying to swallow down a mountain of bitter taste.

Suddenly the hairs on her arms stand erect like soldiers ready for war, the knock on the door becomes louder and louder. Its now or never she softly whispers to herself looking at her fathers’ prize possession that he left her in his will. The knock becomes a kick; a migraine forms reminding her of the time her brother use to play bass in the school’s marching band. Dum, dadum,dadum,dum…

“I have to do it now, if I don’t do it now then…”

Frantically she looks around, maybe for answers or even a sign, her last glimmer of hope amongst the rot and decay that has become her life. She has always believed in angels, in miracles. In a God of love and peace, but could never find that in herself, no matter how hard she tried. The darkness consumes her, drowning in her fears she grabs her father’s gun and pulls the trigger.

Purple stains on her lacerated paper are the only pieces that are left of her puzzled life.