#60 Metamorphosis

By Chris Negron

It begins as it ends, with violence and pain. Pain so sharp and deep, the visible surface represents only a fraction of the feeling underneath—an excruciating certainty nothing can ever be the same again.

And it won’t.

She can’t remember what it felt like before, to be untouched by such agony, can’t recall feeling a sense of wholeness. At one time she must have been complete. If so, it was a very long time ago indeed.

Because now she is cracked, broken, lost. Left in pieces.

Not shattered. Never shattered. The pieces, splintered as they might be, still connect in their own way and from between their cracks emerges . . . color. And light. Colorful lights dulling the pain until it almost disappears. Almost.

She would not want the pain to leave her entirely. It created the color and the light.

Soon, she learns to wield it. Not as a weapon, but an instrument, a crutch even, one that helps her from this place to the next, from that day to the following. Until, finally, she reaches her destination.

She wouldn’t have been able to get there without the violence and the pain. The color and the light. In truth, she didn’t even know where she was going. But she knows she is there when she feels it again: the same violence, the same pain. Only this time it’s immediately converted to color and light.

Someone new emerges. A child begins to wail.

1 comment:

Sam Knight said...

This comes off very poetic. I was wondering how the light and colors were going to connect to the pain.