Just a little one-shot I wrote a while back.
"Deep, calming breaths. They always said that slowing your breathing was a good relaxation technique. Deep, calming breaths. Clears the mind; relaxes the muscles; releases tension. Deep, calming breaths. Deep, yes. Calming? No. With each breath came the waves of overwhelming guilt, embarrassment, humiliation. Every breath brought up a different, more painful memory. The rejection from her top school; the rejection of the "only one"; the reckless, late-night email; the declined credit card application and the tendency toward stupidity, naivete and blushing. The breaths that were supposed to be getting deeper and slower only became more shallow as the minutes and memories passed on. She drew her knew up to her chest and sat there on the floor, her sobs shaking her from her head to her toes.
She was transparent. Not the kind of transparent people use when referring to some real; some one genuine, but the transparent of the wallflower who's never seen and that of the woman whose soul is bared to the world, who's mask has been torn away to show the inner workings beneath.
It had been like this as long as she could remember. Her memories haunting, following her through life in a train of grey-bodied ghosts, flowing with her blood. The beginning of the line was headed by the memory from middle school. He was her first real crush and now the memory of that German class haunted her still. Her stuttering, middle school shadow was always there to serve as a painful reminder of her humiliation. The letter from Stanley was on of the strongest shadows. , resilient through all her attempts to push it away. The day she'd opened the letter, expecting to see words of welcome and instead saw a Dear John letter with a "thanks, but no thanks" message. That piece of mail had cost her many tears and it still haunted her after she'd ripped it into bits and burnt it to a crisp.
Paul Coelho once wrote, "Destiny is what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their destiny is. At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream and to yearn fro everything." How true it was. Her dreams had been great as a child. She had not been afraid of dreaming then. Now after rejection after rejection and one dream shattered after another, she wondered if her destiny was simply just to exist, work a dead-end job and then simply cease. Her life was a Pandora's Box. Her broken dreams and sorry existence: the troubles and suffering within. Unlike Pandora's box, it seemed hers was devoid of hope, even after all the trouble had seeped out. Wasn't that supposed to be the one good thing? Hope was born from Pandora's Box. But not hers. If hope had been there, it had disappeared long ago."