Shattered Pt;2

There right next to it was another piece. One. Two. Three. There were too many to count. I was surrounded. There are millions of them, scattered every which way my eyes couldn’t contain the amounts there were. Broken Glass The window. The window shattered into this. Broken glass. With droplets still falling from my face I ignore the ink that used to be my reason to stop working. I rummage through every cabinet and crevice I can think of searching for something, anything. My hand came across a small bottle, yes this will have to work. I got to my knees, glass scratching and stabbing them, but I don’t feel it, I can’t feel it. “Please please no no no” My hands shake as I grab the shards and glue the edges back together. Too caught up in my task I can’t see the blood that my fingertips have released. The glass was killing me, yet I still try to fix it. Fix It. There are too many pieces. My fingers are not even mine anymore. Ink still controls me. The potatoes I was preparing rot away. I look up to see a brand new window in replace of the broken one. But I still try to fix it. I don’t want the new one. I long to hear the whistle that I once hated. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please let me have it back. End of part and story.