Author Information
Half Empty
A glass half empty, a glass half full….everyone knows what is meant by this. I guess I’m the pessimist. My glass IS half empty, I am half empty. Everything good that happens seems to not have any effect on my half empty glass, but everything negative from unbearable to tolerable seems to be a drop taken from the glass that I worry I may never get back. My predators all drank from the glass, thirsty for an easy target. The closer to the bottom of the glass I get, I can no longer see my reflection in it, I feel my strength draining down to the last drop when I have to scrape for something to continue to fight for. Things aren’t clearer through an empty glass, they are streaked with unpleasant remnants of what they left with me. Left terminally ill, my glass finally breaks, and I find myself with nothing to hold the hope in but my inadequately equipped hands. A small, intricately shaped piece of glass becomes my hope. I draw crimson ribbons with it, hoping everything coming from hate would be evicted from my body. I pray that the parts that made me, me,…are hiding dormant inside, waiting for the chance to wake and take back what once was mine,…what was supposed to be un-ownable by anyone else. Like a string of pearls,…beads escape wildly across the well-kempt floor as if someone yanked them from my undeserving neck….life drains from my half-empty body. My slow departure being one last punishment I had expected would find me. Maybe now they would see that I was right, I was a half-empty kind of girl….my life ending in a half-empty state. Half-empty was enough, or so I thought.
