• allbymyself 193w

    A broken shard of glass.

    It had lain there for years perhaps. Unattended, in an obscure corner of the basement. I have broken numerous pieces of cutlery over the years. So, it was quite impossible for me to determine how that particular piece had survived, or to work out which bottle or container it had formerly been a part of.

    A broken shard of glass.

    I wouldn't have given it a second glance if it were not for the fact that an excruciating pain shot through my right toenail, like someone had stabbed me with a very sharp needle. I looked down to see a small trickle of blood. I am not by nature, a squeamish person, but within a minute.. the pool of red had expanded quite rapidly and had formed a crimson ring around my toes.

    A broken shard of glass.

    I did not have anything at hand to pull out the shard and the pain had spread through to my entire body by now. I bent down, and decided to pull out the glass with my bare fingers. In a moment, it was in my hands, the shard and the crimson was now on my fingers. I did not throw it away immediately, however.

    A broken shard of glass.

    It did not signify anything of course. It had occupied my thoughts for a brief period, given me momentary pain, left behind a trail of red and it was ready to fade back to obscurity.

    But it has been years.. and I still recall the momentary pain, the relief I felt as I pulled it out and the scar it gave me, something I carry to this day.

    A broken shard of glass.

    - Avitaj

    Picture: Pixabay

    @sanyogita @wasted_sparks @nightwriter_i @strikhedonia

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    A Broken Shard of Glass

    But it has been years, and I still recall the momentary pain and the scar it gave me, something I carry to this day.