Restored Goods (1)

"03-21-17 I'm nothing but damaged goods. Shards of a person left scattered on the ground just waiting for some poor soul to come walking barefoot across the floor." [anonymous]

I walk slowly, nothing covering myself but down and a feeling of lack and loss.

Suddenly my foot strikes a brittle shell, something like a fragment of a smashed ceramic vase that once held fragrant and lovely flowers. It skids a few feet and is stopped by the crumbs and dust of more ceramic wreckage, and I gradually realize that this is the theater of an attack, some kind of sabotage or senseless violent rage that happened a while earlier, for there are clusters of ordinary house dust leaning against piles of reflective and very sharp shards. A heavy boot print is visible in one of the sandlike tufts of wreckage, as if someone had ground larger bits underfoot.