Sometimes it takes losing someone, To realize You love them

But then you’re stuck, With feelings that could have belonged, Without the person They were meant for

So all you have left Is pieces of your heart; Instead of the whole

But you can’t quite make them fit, Back together, Not perfectly; As time slips a w a y

So you fill the cracks; One laugh One joke One smile at a time

Until your fractured heart
Beats once more

Divisions Revisions Decisions Not hidden Good ridden Or smitten Or written The loss The toss The boss Then cross Divide reside My side Good bye Fractured

“You are 10 minutes late, Mrs Lee. Our clinic runs on time, as you know.”

I tried not to be too rude but had to interpret what the receptionist was saying. I gave her an apologetic Korean smile. She nodded.

“Your therapist will be out in a minute so take a seat.”

We turned around and walked through a few rows of chairs. She grabbed the first empty chair next to the white wall. She was so glad to sit down while saying this, “I missed my bus. I rang my husband ten times to pick me up from the bus stop. He just wouldn’t pick up the phone. I am so mad at him. What else could I do? I had to wait for the next bus. I had to almost run with my bad knees.”

This time she gave me an apologetic smile behind her dark sunglasses. Her huge black sun visor hat had a sparkly embroidered butterfly on top, blocking half her face. I still could see her age. 74 years old? She looked younger for her age, still walking (did she say she ran?), talking and still showing anger.

We wait for her therapist.

“Oh Mrs Lee. Come on in. My name is Clara, your occupational therapist today.”

Already two other patients were seeing their therapist on two separate tables across the room and they were talking loud and constantly. I knew I had to raise my voice here.

“Show me your fingers, Mrs Lee.”

Bandaged up, suddenly two fingers were coming out of her pockets and placed on the table. Clara opened the old bandage, without asking, to reveal the white pinkish flesh underneath. She pressed the area a few times, while watching Mrs Lee’s face.

“No pain here, Mrs Lee? That’s good. How long have you been wearing this bandage? You can’t have showers with this thing on. Water is trapped underneath, you see, and it can get infected. I will give you new bandage to take home.”

“Did you check the x-ray?”

“Yes, not a fracture, just a tear of ligament”

“The foldable seat on the bus sprang up so quickly and I thought that I was going to lose my finger!”

“The seat was fractured, not your finger. You are very lucky, Mrs Lee.”

..Idk maybe a pot or something.. (I have no motivation for this anymore).

There is a saying That we are worth more Than the sum of our parts

It's like saying the sun Isn't a star It's a concept I can't believe

My cracks Merging and breaking More than it all

But I never feel myself By the end Bottling my feelings Before I

Dragging my emotions along Deepening the cracks Do not or do

Hearts slashed apart Here is everywhere and not Have nothing but my own thoughts

Growing bitter Good is what we say Giving what they need to hear

Warped inside Without a place to store Wandering and worldly Wonder left behind

Fractured in and out For nothing but others Forsaking it all for their love

Richard dug 3 unmarked graves in the last month. One for each body he found in his trunk.

A mugger, a hooker, and a homeless man he knew from the park. He never remembered how they died.

He stepped down into his 4th grave holding a revolver. He lifted the muzzle of the gun to his temple. Darkness followed.

He woke without clothes in his bed as though he’d showered, a towel around his waist. As he peered from his bed to the bathroom, blood trailed from the tub. This one wasn’t in his trunk.

So many things can break with such little effort.

Brisa Crowe peered through the keyhole, able to see very little of the room beyond, but hearing so many different conversations. She tried to force her focus onto what her parents were saying, though it was incredibly difficult.

Still, she managed it.

“We’ve got to get out here,” her dad said quietly.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but here.”

Brisa felt hope spark in her heart. Rilikya was hardly the safest place for mages — this meant her parents had finally realised.

Aunt Ivy and Uncle Caspian had been killed five years ago now.

“We’ll be killed if they realise who Carmen is!”

“That’s why we’re not taking Carmen.”

Something broke.

What?

They were… Carmen’s mother was her mother’s twin!

And they were just gonna leave Carmen?

She was ten.

Brisa wasn’t sure what to think, but she couldn’t bear to listen to the conversation anymore. She’d convince her parents to take Carmen with them if they did leave.

She would.

(She didn’t.)

I never saw it coming. My head was slammed against the wall, and as I slumped to to the floor I passed out. The blood from my head wound stained the floor. It also was on the hands of my attacker, who hastily washed his hands and ran out of my apartment. My head was fractured in a few places. I was barely breathing when I was rescued. The EMT picked me up and laid me on the stretcher. I was in a coma for a few days while investigators tracked the suspect and questioned witnesses. When I woke, one of those investigators was there to get my statement. I couldn’t remember anything, so I was no help for solving the case. But he asked about the last thing I could remember. I recalled a repairman coming to fix something. I’d called about a busted TV. Next thing I knew I was assaulted ,almost fatally. As I recovered, I was guarded by protective detail. My memory was returning. Apparently I had been on a jury and an escaped convict had found me. The police put out an APB and with the help of my description of the assailant, I was able to make a positive ID when they showed me his mug shot. Thankfully, when he was in custody a tracker had been implanted in his arm -so he could be located. He was found in a bar getting drunk.

Children flocked to the school bursting with excitement. Boxes, bags and carts bravely accompanied the young minds inside. For today was the Grand Science Fête. A cheerfully bright banner had been draped across the door frame. Posters littered the walls at quirky angles.

At last there was a child at every table, organised according to their project. Except for the table at the back of the large hall. It stood quiet and sorrowful, forgotten and unloved. Despite being promised a part in the fête. Just as it’s legs began to shake a tiny pair of arms shoved a heavy box onto the surface. “Sorry, I’m late,” those three words barely a whisper in the hubbub.

Clambering onto a chair the child carefully removed the contents of their box. A single robot emerged from hiding. Square head with bright red button eyes, blue triangle nose and a stretching smile. It’s neck was made of a movable tube allowing a clear two-hundred-and-forty degree view. Rectangular chest puffed out proudly as its tube-like arms dangled by its side, hands curled around into capital “C’s”. Gentle hands moved the robots feet to make the legs stand smartly together.

“There you go Charlie. Look how many people are here! If you behave today I promise to take you to the big sapphire lake,” the child murmured to their robot. Jumping off the chair, they stood proudly next to Charlie. Waiting for the questions and stares.

Together they felt the air fizzing with excitement, and heard the hum of the bright lights. From across the hall the scent of rotten eggs drifted in rolling waves contaminated every human nose. It must be time for the volcanoes and other experiments. “Bet you’re glad you can’t smell anything,” giggled the child.

After an eternity of chattering away to their best friend, a teacher approached the child’s table. Eying the robot with cynicism she asked, “Why have you bought a robot to a science fête?”

“This is not any robot, Miss Evens, this is Charlie! I bought Charlie along because engineering and the mechanisms are all impossible without knowing some science!” Indignation laced their bubbling words. A soft hum and the teacher clicked away in her heels rapping on the wooden boards. “Don’t worry about Miss Evens, she’s just a sour cow.” They tried to reassure their robot by validating his legitimacy.

By lunchtime only a few parents had taken pity on Charlie and his human friend. No one seemed to care how special this robot was. “I’m just going over there to get a hotdog, I will be able to see you at all times. Promise that I will be back,” the child pointed to a food stand a short distance away, before patting Charlie’s arms lightly.

Their hurried footsteps seemed to be amplified by the vast space, or were they just being paranoid? Glancing over their shoulder they saw the group of mean boys crowding around their table. ‘Will Charlie be alright?’ They wondered. Muttering their thanks to the vendor, who had seen the trouble brewing and had a hotdog prepared already.

Tripping over each step they rushed back towards Charlie. When there was a sickening crash and pained whir. “CHARLIE!” Screamed the child lurching into a run, dropping their food. Scattering the mean boys like startled geese, the child dropped to their knees staring at the fractured body parts.

Gently, they began scooping the parts together trying to find every lost part of their best friend. “No, Charlie, be alright buddy. I got you,” their frantic words got swallowed by heaving sobs. Tears started to drip from panicked ocean eyes, before turning into a deluge. Yanking the box off the table, the child reached inside to find the tools that their Grandfather had used. Uncaring that a crowd had gathered or the whole room was deafeningly silent.

The tangle of wires and shattered parts beyond repair. Deep down the child knew that Charlie was forever broken, laying down the oily screwdriver they felt their heart crumble into thousands of tiny pieces. Pulling out the soft plum felt blanket, the child placed all of Charlie’s parts inside. Wrapping up their best friend, like the ambulance people had done to their grandfather.

Lowering him into the cardboard box, the child surrounded the deceased with all the tools that the ‘Toymaker in the sky’ would need to let Charlie live on with his father. Compassionately, they picked up the box and walked solemnly from the school hall. Ignoring the teachers who tried to stop them, Charlie was dead. Their heart was smashed and aching.

Until the sparkling sapphire waters of the lake lapped at their shoes, their feet didn’t stop moving. Sitting down heavily on the big oak log the child perched the box at their feet.

Reminiscing about the months they had spent in their grandfathers shed helping build Charlie, and eating biscuits swiped from grandmas baking tin. They could still hear their grandfathers rumbly laugh and warm voice explaining everything about building things; from cars, to lawnmowers, to robots. He had been a mechanic and engineer in his day, eager to pass on this knowledge to his only grandchild.

Swearing on a digestive biscuit the child had promised to look after Charlie, their best friend in the entire world. Now there was no more Charlie. No more best friend. Pulling off their socks and shoes the child waded out into the cold waters, carrying the box aloft. Only when the water reached their armpits did the child slowly lower the box into the deep waters.

“Sorry grandfather I couldn’t look after Charlie, he got broken at school. I just wanted to show how clever you were. So now he is joining you with the Toymaker in the sky, I hope he finds you safely.” Their tiny voice trembled and shook as they spoke. Knowing that, putting Charlie in the same lake where their grandfather now lived, there was a better chance of them finding each other again.

She wasn’t human anymore. Too many people had chipped away at her kindness, at her humanity. At first, she gave herself away willingly, urging those to accept her love. But then she didn’t have to urge, and they started begging, and she kept giving. Giving. Giving. Giving. Taking. Taking. Taking. And the store where she bought the glue to hold herself together went out of business. So she started falling apart. But people kept taking. Taking. Taking. Taking. Stealing. Stealing. Stealing. And what happens when you can no longer hold yourself together? You begin to lose the broken pieces.