Hearts Impaled by Marina Powell

Hearts Impaled

By Marina Powell First Place Prose

Here in the forest it should be bright, would be bright, almost is bright, but for the suggestions of shadows lurking in the trees. They seem to hide when I look for them, they seem to watch my turned back, they seem drawn to the darkness in me, even though I try to hide it. The anger responds to them, welling up from the cracks in my chest.

Here the ground should be normal, would be normal, almost is normal, but for the vines and their hatred of the world around them. They want to kill something, they are bitter and hollow, they envy the trees content flourishing, just as I’m tempted to. The grass doesn’t grow here, and the vines drag at my feet, wanting something to choke.

Here the music should be joyful, would be joyful, almost is joyful, but for the pained silence drifting wearily. It wants to say something, but can’t. It listens to the babbling around it and finds no comfort, it sighs in agony. The birds keep silent in respect for its grief and the wind gives it privacy.

Here the colors should be vibrant, would be vibrant, almost are vibrant, but for the way the green turns its head away to hide the tears. The shades withdraw to silent mourning, the reds don’t want to see my hurt, even the sky looks away and dims the trees to ash. The sun draws the covers over its head and the shadows deepen.

Here the surroundings should be gentle, would be gentle, almost are gentle, but for the cruel iron spears growing black in the ground. They speak of hearts impaled, they trap lost memories locked in concrete slabs, they separate two worlds. I smile, but inside I lament for one who had no grave, only lingering in my memory and bone-white ashes on the wind.