Broken Pieces

A lot can happen in 6 months. Just like a lot can happen in 10 years. I know I haven't published in a long time but hopefully, in time, this movella will explain it.


3. "Fine"

Mankind have always been programmed, in a way, to answer one question; “How are you?” No matter how you’re feeling that day, the only acceptable answer is “Fine.” It doesn’t matter if you’re crying your eyes out at the time, or if you’re on cloud nine, the answer will always be the same. You could have scarlet rivers flowing from your stomach, your arms, your thighs but nothing except “fine” is an acceptable answer. Why is that? When did we become so self-absorbed that all we want to hear from a person is that one word? What happened to caring about others and giving them the time of day? People shouldn’t be afraid of saying that they’re not fine; it should be ok to not be ok. Nobody is invincible from feelings and, sadly, with these feelings comes pain and suffering. In order to survive the positives, we must survive the negatives as well.


In my opinion, the word “fine” which we shall refer to as the F-word from now on, only means one thing (in the majority of cases). It’s not just a simple word to say we’re content with our existence; it is a word that hides pain and has become a mask for those who are hurting. If the F-word was a person, what would she look like?


I think she would be pale, almost too pale. Paper white and sickly looking. She would have dark hair, running past her shoulders in a messy style because she didn’t have the energy to keep going to get haircuts. She doesn’t care. Her hair, while reasonably clean, would be knotted and unruly. The once smooth, loose waves would be tangled, a result from hours of running clammy hands through it. Several long strands would fall forward onto her face, just in front of her eyes, sometimes it would stick to the tears that permanently clung to her hollow cheeks. It was still matted from the never ending walks through the rain in the middle of the night. A creased forehead would taint the youthful appearance of her face, forcing her to seem as though she had never stopped frowning. Dark, near black, eyes would stare out into the distance without seeing or focussing on anything in particular. Puffiness surrounding the eyes would be the only indication that she had any feelings at all because, all though the dark eyes stared, they never appeared to see anything. They were looking out onto their own world, one filled with a constant pain that formed a great lump in the back of her throat and prevented her from speaking at all. Dark red lips, coloured so due to the constant nipping by her teeth upon the flesh would remain the same constantly, the bottom lip sucked in slightly as sharp teeth bit at the skin inside.


Her overall appearance was one of someone who had given up entirely. A large black jumper would fall just above her knees, being the only clothing she wore rather than underwear.  She would spend hours looking at her reflection in the mirror, knowing every flaw and imperfection by heart. Voices taunted her each and every second of the day. Her ribs stuck out, each one accentuated by the thin layer of flesh that was barely there at all. Breasts that were too small for anyone to find attractive, in her opinion. Collar bones jutted out alarmingly but still not enough for her. Her stomach and arms were featured a criss-cross pattern of scars. Some were white by now, a permanent reminder of the pain she had once felt, whilst fresh red lines reminded her that she still felt that pain constantly. Her thighs patterned with similar marks, some pointing towards the obvious gap between her legs that could never be thing enough.


Her feet would be dirty from nights spent walking alone in the dark. When the rest of the world appeared to be asleep, dreaming of flashy cars and romance, she would walk. She had no destination. But she also had no idea where she had begun or where she was. Life was one blur, a silent rush of faces and situations flashing past. Her existence had become black and white, as others failed to see what was going on inside her mind.


So, to me, “Fine” is a swear word. It has connotations of happiness to some but it is deceptive. Being “fine” is not just a state of being; it is a state of mind. And if you allow yourself to slip into that state of existence, you are letting that girl into your mind. 

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