“My voice was a whisper, no matter how hard I pushed; I was near tears.”


Don’t forget, today’s the day of the “Like Shards of Glass” Book discussion. Email me for your free copy: ari.r.james@gmail.com

Like Shards of Glass


After three failed jumps at the window, the lower half of my body slammed into the side of the condo. Extending my arms, I propelled myself inside the bedroom. As I dragged myself through the opening, both elbows scraping against brick, I hit the floor as if I’d been train to land on my head. The latter half of my body landed on a box full of letters and journals.

Without stopping to assess my elbows or check my head for knots, I pushed onto the backs of my legs. Then, running like a four-legged animal until I caught my balance, I ran toward the whimpering sounds.

Photographs of my brothers were scattered like wings of fallen angels. My father’s photos were singed in the sink. A forlorn cry, which reminded me of a woman in labor emanated from the shower.

On her left side, in black silk pajamas, she lay, in sparkling slivers of glass and picture frames. Cadaverous, crying into the palm of her hand, her eyes squeezed together so tight I could see every vein in her upper eyelids.

Why? “Mom, what…” My voice was a whisper, no matter how hard I pushed; I was near tears.

Startled, her eyes remained closed. Crying into her hand, her abdomen expanded as she gasped, almost as if no amount of oxygen would reach her lungs or sustain her.

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