Broken Thing
By Felicity Grace
The broken thing cried. Its mangled arms wrapped around it in self-pity as the scaley beast let out sobs that wracked its entire form. Its legs, a mixture of backwards joints and nearly unusable, painful appendages, were spread out before it with no other motion possible. It attempted to wipe the grime and salty tears from its face, but the jagged, painful fingers that were now twisted into mangled claws only scraped its crooked beak with needle-like tips. From the distant, shattered pieces of its memory, a trickle of words emerged and echoed in the creature’s head. “It deserves no name. This monster is useless. Be rid of it! It isn’t fit to fulfill its purpose.” How it found itself in the seemingly skyless forest of black, twisted trees it would never know, but here it was, broken in the darkness of its own shame. It let out a long, low howl, whatever was left of its mind cursing itself. The creature remembered the song. The song that it was told to chant. The song that was promised to give it new life in the chambers beneath the earth. It shuttered to itself again, cowering and pressing back into the spongey wood of the tree behind it. It hadn’t given new life, though. It had opened up pain and sorrow and shame. Beyond the song, it could recall one thing. One memory that was of worth. Music. It remembered music. It remembered skilled fingers striking strings and drawing music from the heart of an instrument. Were those fingers once its own? Had it been the thing drawing such beauty from an object so simple and yet so enchanting? Something inside told the beast that yes, once, in another life, it had been the creator of the enthralling spell called music. But that life was no more. It was gone like the rest of its memories. Gone like its hope and worth. “It deserves no name. This monster is useless.” Whoever had spoken those words was right. It was a monster. It was worthless and if it died it would benefit even itself. When it tried to crawl forward, its joints aching unbearably, its hand plunged into a pool of water that was shrouded in darkness, invisible amongst the trees and inky canopy above. It considered the pool for a moment, then ventured to reach its claw farther in, attempting to scoop the cool liquid to its beak. But the clawed hands wouldn’t function, and so it reverted to gulping it in with its maw to the water. Like a dog, it thought. Useless like a dog. I have no meaning. But then, as if compelled by a strong force, the creature crawled forward, farther into the pool. First, just its arms were submerged, but it dragged its body and finally its legs into the cool water. What it was doing in such an accessible area to danger it didn’t know, but the water was welcoming on its constantly aching body. In the distance, it heard a roar of a beast, probably much like itself. The creature, in an attempt to hide itself from the horrors of its pain and sorrow, if even for a moment, eased its head beneath the surface. The instant its head was fully submerged, a charge of energy seemed to start traveling through its body. At first it started out as a surprising sting, but then it softened into a surge of energy that pulsed through every scale, every hair, and every claw the creature had. It wanted to retreat back to the dark forest above for air, but something inside it wouldn’t let it rise. And then, as if from all around it, the creature heard a voice. It seemed to vibrate its very bones and to come from inside its own head. Matteo. The creature shook its head to clear it, but the voice seemed to be everywhere and couldn’t be quieted. Matteo. The name for a moment sounded familiar. Comforting. Did it belong to the creature? But then it shook its head once more. The comfort the voice offered was too perfect for such a twisted beast. Even the water somehow felt too flawless for it to touch. Self-disgust filled its chest like fire. “I don’t belong here!” The creature shouted, before even realizing it was still underwater. But it didn’t feel the angry rush of water filling its lungs. It felt as if it had intruded on a place of beauty. A place where it didn’t belong. I love you. “No, you don’t. You don’t know what I am!” Yes I do. I know you. And I know that you are mine. Follow me. The energy continued pulsing within the beast. “I can’t! I… I’m broken! You don’t want me!” Something inside the beast wanted to believe this voice. To believe that it did belong. That it was loved. But how? It was a broken creature, a twisted monster, and it didn’t deserve love or belonging. I love you. Follow me. “Who are you!?” I made you. I love you. You know who I am. Come back to me. The broken thing considered the words, the hope, and the place of belonging and knew it wanted it more than anything. But it was broken. Too broken to follow its maker. Yes, its Maker. The voice belonged to its Maker. “Please, heal me! I want to follow you!” Come. Follow me. Be made new. And he was new. He was made new. The pain, scales, and claws were gone as if they had never existed. He wanted to laugh and cry with joy. Follow me. “I will!” He cried. And he meant it with all of his heart. As he crawled from the water of the well, he knew he always would.
Behind “Broken Thing”
“Broken Thing” was written in July 2021 by Felicity Grace. She wrote it originally as a short story segment for a writing project, but after finishing the piece it was forgotten in a desk drawer instead of being used for its original intent. After collecting dust for so long, it was rediscovered and it was decided that there was no better place for “Broken Thing” than to be shared here for readers like you. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and that you’ll visit again soon.