The Gist of Life: Chapter I

---

Life Shattered
(1,583 words)
.
Life with angels, an intervening factor, finding an even level playing field to the anomalies of
life, a challenging endeavor, calculating risk for the firmness of purpose after consideration is
extended. Seldom does it reach such extremes for the affected to remediate to a consolable
conclusion: Alas, mediocrity tethers the unchallenged to their thread of a miserable life bound to
the ills of the streets. The extraneous riggers along the exteriors of the capsulated, freed from
the rigamarole of the mundane that courses their unremarkable roles.
.
.
Love is the common element between the fulfilled and the abandoned, where only one goes
on a prowl, usually finding the desperate and fallible, deficient in morals and intellect. The
events that followed on how they met were plucked by the wind and groundless to land. Such
is the making of the obscured, obsolete, and the subliminal. Torn and ripped but never apart,
what omen cast asunder, trespass within two fastened by expectations that are centered, a future
is promised.
.
.
A cosmetic anecdote to appease the fateful union, having momentous or dire consequences,
ties a knot through betrothal to undertake or give another today, a tomorrow to relive, until
wedlock embraces and takes hold of a couple as a new life comes into frame to make three. A
glimmer breaks through the afflicted eyes, and the gleeful eyes of the announcer, predicated on
expectations to come. Be there a day not to be, be there a time not to exist, be as it may, neither
day nor time will cease to be or not exist, for that is the way, the truth, and the life.
.
.
Regrettably, misfortune occasions the inauspicious, as news took a turn for the worse, when
life was once there, but stillborn claimed the shortened life as misery shreds the disheartened. It
resonates that it makes the best company, yet when life gets empty and emptier still, what fills
the void cannot be avoided. When life is without the life that was within, it would fathom the
deep chasm that’s free from the currents stirring above, embattled frothy waves to surge away
a defenseless shore, the ongoing of which life matters not to the unaffected.
.
.
The tally takes a toll on the scarred and overwrought, taking it to newer heights and
directions, seldom ventured by the choiceless, where redemption is sought and unerringly
absolute truth. Passed forward to move distinctly in a realm to clear your heart and wipe away
the blemishes, and try again to conceive after a tumultuous relationship with street ills that
distanced you from its absorption to plague and overwhelm your life, too. Letting the other
waste away, being instilled with adversities that dwell within.
.
.
Fighting its demons, tormenting and massacring whatever’s left of its mind. While the one
who’s gotten it together, a mindset under control, fully functional in one accord, to bring a new
life into this world. A solemn moment traverses once again as an element of surprise manifests
in an acclamation, to taking charge, step-by-step, the processing of life generating its form. To
the strangers growing in separate worlds, a singular duality courses through a relationship that’s
bounded by procedural contract, taking form, realigning its contours.
.
.
The necessities of life have yet to develop, and again, still water runs deep as before. The
target missed its mark once again. An aborted fetus was buried in a Potter’s Field as prayers are
said for the many, like one before, and one for the present. What sin has plotted against the gift
of life? Prompts the mulling of the recesses within the mind, the apertures, and the crevices take
hold of the directionless to fill their void. Yet nothing inspires or cultivates to replace the loss of
life. A shared love lost, mayhaps redeeming for the stained half to have wholly intruded.
.
.
A second chance to give it a go ahead; alas, a full stop circumvents the outcome to a dismal
malady. The third beckons the charmless to be subject to adversities that are inevitable to come
knocking on the door. Turmoil grips the anticipatory, to favor a hole to climb into. To go outside
and smell the roses and feel their thorns that point to reality. A subject matter not left for
discussion, but a debatable cause of action to determine the course of direction. A reservation to
feather a bed, a conversation for a bedtime story, and deliberation, an absence of haste to bed.
.
.
The objective considers a fourth as serendipity hinges the foreground. A notable sway from a
greater power, as a Ouija Board, a Talisman, a deck of cards, and a roll of the dice, intervenes
and persuades the decision maker to point ‘Yes’. To the victor come the spoils, drenched in oils
that common links the goods to their master, and at times they venture round about, to who is
what and what is who? The fourth takes a ride home from the doctors, and so far, it is too early
to tell, being in its initial stages of development, so hope slips out the door and follows the posse.
.
.
She is at it again, the fourth time, a deal maker enchants time to manifest the signs that
portend the auspicious to surrender her apprehensive state; however, the omens betray her
trust to shield her from constant pain and suffering, as if her miscarriages were not enough, she
ignores her other abuse and cruel treatment that go together with each other. The bruises and
black eyes are telltale signs of a relationship gone awry. When people with a substance use
disorder hit bottom from their natural high, they hallucinate to escape reality and see how
wasteful a trip it was.
.
.
Episodic relapses are averted by sheer willpower, yet cavaliers suspect that a similar fate
dictates that history repeat itself, as her story will too. A field free from life, from pain and
suffering, and from love and regret. Her stay there shortens, each time and again, as she wonders
why she should even go there. After all, they were gone before they entered this world, though
she goes for their soul that never lived on this earth, but live in a better place, everlasting. Non-
negotiable odds are a cliché—what remains when life’s gift is not heaven-sent?
.
.
The foreboding artifice is temporal, designated to forestall the inevitable while delusions
manifest the weak-minded to take specific measures to ensure that it does not come around next
time. A fifth time comes full circle again, and all indicators say she is pregnant again, and like
before, it is in a preliminary stage. The waiting game takes over, but not for long, as it is short-
lived as always. Given these circumstances, she readies herself accordingly. Hoping for the best
as always, losing herself to loftier heights, but never as far as buying baby things.
.
.
Calamity rears its ugliest self as another visit to the doctors comes and goes. Yet the abuse
from her partner is never abated, while it goes on relentlessly as always before. She could not at
all separate herself from either evil, as they were a mainstay in her life. So, life matters enough
for her not to take her own life, but to go on in misery for it’s part of her life. A standard error, at
times, will be overlooked by the many friendless and by the few who are not. Place yourself in
her shoes and never take it for granted that life should never be that way for any soul on earth.
.
.
Do not ever look at a horse when it is not pulling a cart, but the horse will look at you when
you are pushing a cart. Oddities have a distinct perspective on what is and what should be. It
is natural for a horse to look at things the way it does, but it’s humans that give it meaning. The
horse has feelings, but not human kind of feelings. Emotional responses often influence human
behavior. A proverb says, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Though prudence dictates that
the extent of a horse’s life depends on the condition of their mouth.
.
.
Life absorbs what is there to be taken and squeezes out what is never asked. Life begins as a
gift, and the intervals that followed were a mix of dreams and nightmares. The presence of
wrongs overruled the rights, day and night, night and day, dragging on as long as it may. A
reckoning blisters a painful memory as it drains a story relieved. A cause to move forward, at
least one, and not the other, falters; both stagger a bit and do not move at all. She is by herself
again, but like it more than before. She explores that less of him may be the solution.
.
.
In the back of her mind, she deduced what she needed to do, then realized that she was pregnant
again! She drops on the bed, saying, “Unbelievable!” This time, there is no waiting for the
outcome, for she knows what it will be. She goes to the doctor and takes care of business, and
shortly after, files for divorce. He signs the divorce decree, as she leaves smiling, thinking about
what she will do next. The world is at her doorstep, with better fish to choose from, no turning
back, and no regrets. A life that is well-suited for her to enjoy as it should be…waiting for her.

Comments