Kintsugi

It felt like sound itself was leaking out of my ears. I imagined it like mist. Hissing away as I stared at the ceiling that felt closer than it was. Hanging chandeliers above me like taunting me with its riches.

Was it possible to lose this much?

My hands tingled while they shook.

Brokenly, I let my head anchor down, letting my line of sight hit the ground and tremble around all the friends littered there. A fancy dance floor of ebony creased with gold in that Japanese way where destruction was held together with beauty. Where history was carved into their craft instead of discarded.

I almost laughed. But my chest clung on to a sob.

The history of my friends were pouring out of their bodies. But why? I was no new customer to misfortune but this... why? The one time-- the one time I tried to make amends to all of them, all the wrongs I did them. They'd barely forgave me, barely wanted to trust my invitation to this place where pasts were supposed to be forgotten, or so I believed.

But these hands didn't lie.

They abused reality, and distorted my life with supernatural things that could not be understood but, unlike me, they didn't lie...

These powers were real. Destructive and unforgiving and tear---

[Timer went off there^]

[But I'll illegally continue here:]

---ing even parties apart. What was left of my life to tear apart?

I cried out. Loud and hysterical and on the border between a laugh and a cry but who could hear me with my sound spilling out of my ears and buildings quaking apart at the sight of my fists. And histories. Entire histories, rich with their untold stories and verdicts of forgiveness, shattering before I ever got the chance to hear my own: 'I'm sorry'.