The Needles

(descriptive essay)

The Needle gags in the eyes. She wants to destroy the gaze that just cherished her gratitude for existence. With every word, the Needle seems to penetrate deeper into the pupils. With every word the Needle seems to crave my tears more and more.

I, in turn, fight back such an insolent desire of Truth to pierce me through and through with my Pain. I don’t allow her thin, sharp body to come in the eyes or in the heart. I try to hold on my defense.

However, the Speech doesn’t even think to stop. In a haystack, I manage to find the needle that wounded me. This is one of the few times when I could agree to a straw-dry conversation without unnecessary surprises. But I have already injected. It feels like an infection which is seeping into every wound that heals.

I didn’t think that the person, who was supposed to heal my fresh injuries, was able to make my long-hardened skin bleed and my long-blind eyes sink in tears. Word by word, he makes Truth sharpen a new Needle. Word by word he paves the way for the metal ever closer to my eyes. Getting cold.

I didn’t realize that I would be covered with such a hot wave of Shame. The Needle discreetly but imperiously steals the calmness of the scars that have locked my grudge vault. Now the door is open, and the lava of Shame is filling my face with heat. Tears don’t have time to fall to the floor, because they immediately bake on my cheeks.

He knows what he’s done. He knows what his fault is. He knows what my fault is. He melts his Needles of Truth with the speed of a spark and their ashes fall into the bottomless deafness of silence.

He wipes my tears away and doesn’t say another word tonight.

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