Glass Pieces

My pain was a tree that wanted to grow constantly and no longer fit into my body. Mr. Renoir, an old wise man, saw the pain in my eyes. The sky seemed sunny and beautiful, but it was all illusions. Gray clouds were all around. It was also usual that life looked just like these clouds. The world I wanted was nothing like this. While I wanted a normal life, what happened in reality was different. Suddenly, Mr. Renoir snapped his hands, and my thinking passed before my eyes like a film strip.

I found myself in a cold room. There were 3 boxes with a text on them in the room. On the wall hung a glass painting depicting the world I had imagined. I opened one of the boxes in the room. It written “peace” on it. The voices of pigeons echoed in my ears. I started dreaming of a world of peace. There were hundreds of beautiful flowers instead of traces of blood on the lands of the countries. The air of this world smelled so good that I wanted to breathe it into my lungs. The earth was covered with green grass where I could take off my shoes and run forever.

Suddenly I went back to the cold room, into the dimly lit room. The box I opened disappeared without leaving anything behind. I headed towards the second box that said “freedom”. I started imagining a world like this. I thought of a world where everyone is equal and free, regardless of their language, race or gender.

Suddenly everything turned black and I found myself in the cold room again. There was one last box left, and when I opened it, what I saw and thought was a world without poverty. I have not seen the crowd of people dying from poverty in this world. All the people in the world I saw were happy and their happiness affected me too, but I found myself in the cold room again. It was lost in the last box and the painting fell to the ground and broke. One of the glass pieces pierced his hand and my finger blew.

Mr. Renoir snapped his hand and I found myself next to him. He looked at me as if telling me that it was all just an illusion. Then my tears started to flow slowly, but these were not for the piece of glass that sank into my hand. It was for pieces of glass that sank my heart and hurt me Because I realized once again that these worlds could never be real.

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