Seeing Through Broken Glass

Seeing Through Broken Glass.

He admired the girl's strength. For six long years he had seen her transform into a beautiful young lady. Through all her hardships and achievements, no matter how small, she kept improving her goals and standards. No one else could see the joyful, affectionate person under that hard shell, but him.

Her long golden hair shone in even the dimmest of light. Her blue eyes, that could be as cold as ice, or as soft as satin. Her delicate build hid its true power of physical persuasion. She had always worn pink as far back as he could remember, and it suited her now more than ever. The pink bow the crowned her head, reminded him that no matter how hard cruel she could be, it was only a shield to hide her female emotions behind.

But what kind of chance would a weirdo have? Yes he knew what they said about him, but he forgave their insults. He knew no one truly meant to say those names. That's why they never said it to his face. Except for her, and he had all the broken glasses from those years stored in a box under his bed. Each one a memory of how close he could get to her, but never close enough.

He watched her from across the street. She was at it again. This is what he liked most about her. The way she could talk about her devoted love for one boy in particular, then switch emotions so she could insult her beloved when he came too close to her. The girl was just protecting herself, from the hurt she assumed she would feel if he didn't accept her affections. He felt sorry for her twisted anguish she had to live through everyday.

At the moment, she was only talking to herself about how she would some-day tell the love of her life how she truly felt. So he walked over to listen to the poetic stream that flowed from her soul. The tormented sighs she would periodically take during her speech. She would dance around gracefully showing her moods in a more physical form, then stop and occasionally pound her fist against the wall in frustration.

He knew he would soon be unconscious on the sidewalk, but it was a small price to pay. If only he could stop wheezing , then she wouldn't notice him, and continue swooning over her football headed heartbreaker. Now he was close enough to hear her whisper. She pulled out her golden locket, where she kept a picture of her…what did she call him? Flaxen haired angel wasn't it? Something like that.

Suddenly she stopped, he could see the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her shoulders stiffened and she tighten her fists. He tried to hold his breath, but the attempt was unsuccessful. He counted down the seconds…3…2…1 right on cue, the last thing her saw was her fist flying backwards to his glasses. THUD! And everything went dark.