The Conflict Sprint

I hate conflict, but lately that's where I've been living. 

Extended family issues. A recurrent theme, but I feel we are on the cusp of something big and different now. Choices are on the line. It's the last tango and I'm pretty sure it's going to be rocky and end badly.

Big conflict always leads to smaller conflict. I get stressed about the big stuff, and just want everyone else to handle their stuff while I get mine straightened out. Real life doesn't work that way.

So I'm taking my big stuff and getting the hell out of Dodge for a few days, while leaving everyone here to handle their little stuff.

linking up at Write on Edge

Red Writing Hood -- Shattering

She looked at the glass in her hand. She imagined throwing it and watching as it shattered into a million tiny shards of light. Would the destructive act bring her closure? Would destroying the glass help her rebuild her world?

They were so many broken pieces in her life. How could breaking something else help her put those other pieces back together?

A few days ago, Mel had gone into Old Time Pottery. She had looked around at all the cheap glasses and pitchers. He’d told her to go and buy all the cheap glass she could. Her instructions included paying attention to weight, heft, and shattering ability.

Mel looked at the glistening rows of glassware and thought about destruction. Wanton acts of destruction went against everything in her being, and yet . . .

He took her to a construction site, and talked with the foreman. Mel was horrified, but the foreman seemed happy to oblige. He brought her a tarp, trashcan, and safety goggles.

Her husband leaned against the far wall and told her to think about all the “bad” people and all the horrible things they had done to her; think of an episode and throw a glass. The first throw was half-hearted. Mel was terrified and excited. He told her to throw harder – get angry. He’d clean it all up for her when she was done.

She picked up a pitcher and threw it against the brick wall with all the strength she could muster. It made contact with shattering resonance. She turned, looking to her husband for approval. He smiled at her.

Mel turned back to the wall and threw and threw and threw until all the glass was gone. A crystalline mound on the tarp beneath the wall.

It was a start.

link up at Write on Edge

"It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence."

--Mahatma Gandhi