Broken glasses

September 3rd 1940, the date I’ll never forget, the date that slit me open. The flashbacks of my mother screaming her lungs out, the picture of my father laying still, soundless on the bathroom floor, leaving us no clue except for a broken, shattered pair of glasses.

I closed my eyes shut, flailing through all the memories. I stood by my father’s grave as I broke down in tears. Imagine that your hero, and the one whom lived all his life to protect and love you, is gone. Imagine that you went from seeing someone every minute of your life, to not seeing them at all. Finally, you feel empty inside, though the weighs of the world are on top of your shoulders. Why wasn’t it me? I sobbed.

They said it was suicide, but for sure I knew this wasn’t true. That night, I had weird dreams, dreams I couldn’t explain. I swore to my mother that they weren’t normal, that they were messages, but she only calmed me down and gave me pills to sleep – the pills seemed to make things worse though. Strangely, she wasn’t depressed, or maybe she was too good at hiding it, like she wore a mask of happiness to plaster the pain away. When I saw my father lying dead, broken glasses were right next to him, I snatched them before my mother could see, and hid them in my closet.

I held the shattered glasses in one hand, trying to figure it out, like it was a mystery box.  As I was turning them upside down, I noticed something that shattered my life…

Somehow, the glasses seemed to shatter in pattern – forming a word. My eyes focused hard, what was it? And the, I got it,

“Behind you.” My mind froze. What? This made no sense. I turned around swiftly, and the face of my evil mother shocks me.

“Just the way I killed your father,” a silver blade was pulled from behind her back, and my throat tightened.

Everything was colored and hazy. My father’s eyes appeared in front of me,

“Join me son.” He spoke softly. I understood, but it was too late, but at least, I did. I followed my father into a long, narrow endless path. Into a new path I have no clue of. A path that starts with a pair of broken glasses. My mother may have thought it was the end of us, but it was only the beginning.

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