a changed life

There is no need for books in Jack's life. His outlook was half full, but only because he had half of the glass, to begin with. Short-handed was his mistake; no one else to blame but him because he was all he had. Jack sat in his chair every day drinking the same tea from the same cup from the same half-broken glass he had been drinking for the past ten years. Jack's window was covered in dirt, and the house was messy. The only light in the house was the light the darkness let in. Only through cracks in the filth would you see a sliver of light, a chance at the hope that one-day things will change, just then a flake of dust had fallen into Jack's tea he closed his eyes and began to dream.  

   Jack opened his eyes, and what he saw engulfed him. An astronomical tree of blinding light stood in front of him. he opened his arms out wide, and the wind blew through him like a wind chime. It vibrated his body to the sound of a sweet melody. Jack's body lifted off the ground, and a tear dared to escape from his eyes; he had not allowed himself to feel anything, not since the day he left, not since the day he forgot who he indeed was. The leaves fall off the tree and dance through the air, landing on the ever-changing ground below. You could see the roots coming up from the soil. Twisting and turning like the dancing leaves, trying their best to let themselves go.

   Surrounded by the roots that made him, Jack stood powerless he was consumed, blinded by his past. He could not enjoy the present. The roots twisted and danced their way around jack and took the shape of a cage with no bars because the only bars that were needed were himself. A flake of dust landed urgently on his head and then another, and then more, his bar-less cage was filling up with what he thought was filth.

     With a hissing snap, fire-cracked through the sky, searing the tree and burning it to ash and everything around him. He felt warm; was this his chance? Was this a way to finally escape? Jack couldn't see out of the windows. He never knew the warmth of the sun. But this warmth was different. It was blissful, a sweet kiss of remorse from his very dreams. A cinder from his fireplace had lit its way through Jack's living room, and his house was on fire; everything was burning. The peace Jack wanted to come had come like a ray of sunshine through the cracks of broken glass. Jack was at ease, and his house only half stood when he left it for good.