The alarm sounds and my eyelids slowly un-peel. I reach for a tiny axe on the nightstand, open the door to my chest and listen for the quiet beat in the dark. I slam the axe as hard as I can, straight down the middle of my heart, and feel the fracture spread like a virus.

Broken, bleeding fragments clatter down the insides of my ribcage, coming to rest in a mangled, dysfunctional pile in the pit of my stomach.

When the last piece falls, I close the door, wipe the blood off the little axe, and set it back on the nightstand. With a sufficiently shattered heart, I stand up out of bed. Ready to face another day where no one else has a chance at it.

Luciana, 31