This post is written in response to the prompt on Write Tribe’s #WritingWednesdays. “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” ― Anton Chekhov


“Is this what you call tea?” he yelled and flung the cup across the room at her. She ducked instinctively to avoid the hot liquid. The cup hit the mirror behind her with all the force that he had thrown it with and both the cup and the mirror shattered.

As he turned angrily and left the room, she was just thankful that he had not whipped out his belt this time.

She turned to clear up the mess but was distracted by the shards of the mirror that lay on the floor; each piece reflecting pieces of her face.

“That’s me,” she realised as she looked at the distortion. “Fragments of the person I was. Will I ever be whole again?” she wondered.

And as she picked up the pieces of the mirror, she realised it was time to pick up the pieces of her life.



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