As i hurtle steadily toward the inevitable, I throw my worries right and left. I shatter my secrets into million pieces. Each piece has a sharp end, just to make it hurtful enough to be believable. I give my father one. He holds it so tightly i see the redness escaping his tightly closed hand to the floor. He smiles with no signs of any pain or anger. I give another piece to my mother. As worried as she is, she panics. Why my secret pieces are sharp-ended? Why does it make someone bleed? Do i enjoy it? Am i a monster? Her little lovable child is not that. Her little lovable child will cut his own hands before cutting anyone’s. Are those pieces going to hurt me someday? What would i feel? Will i feel any pain? How deep? Is she going to be there to lovingly and warmly kiss the pain away? And hide my secret pieces in her mouth, pretending like it doesn’t hurt as she smiles her red-stained smile? I give another to my brother. He takes it and puts it in his pocket, and walks away. I give one to my other brother. He places it on my hand and makes me hold it with him. “We will be in this pain together. Let all your secret pieces cut us to the core. As long as i have a sharp end and you have the other.” I give one to my sister. She shyly laughs. She looks at me warmly, places the sharp piece against her cheek and pushes it inside. “This will make me pretty,” she says. I give another one to my older sister. She takes it, hides it from her children. “Whatever the pieces might hold,” she says quietly “it will never see the light of day.” I give one to my friend. He tosses it back to me. I stick another piece to it and push it to his side. He looks at me with doubt, smashes the pieces against the wall. Jumps down in them. My friend now is covered in pieces. I gather him from the floor and shove smaller pieces into his mouth, nose and ears. He waves to me that it’s not enough. I continue. I hold him up, cut down and full of pieces, place him right beside me for the remaining time i have just to enjoy the company. I see my lover. I stop. I break down into pieces and look up. The most gentle loving hand gathers me and places me where i should be. Each piece to its place. Beside each piece a piece of that hand’s angelic body. I can’t contain myself. I begin to spell pieces for the rest of my life. I die, empty.