The  Broken  Vase



One can not help but wonder what dark realms lay just below the surface, that we make for our self. Those self justifications for our actions. The reasoning of why we do things and the self indulgence of personal satisfactions. What has our society done to evolve individuals whom have never thought or considered of what their actions do to mark the lives of the innocent. To place the innocent not only in harms way, but mold them into shells of existence, of self-survival that never lets one of them lead a life of their own choosing. A life that has molded them to believe in the nightmare.  A life of scurried values and of no self-worth, but to obey and perform. Why does our world today let the justification of bleeding hearts condone the destruction of the innocent? Has the world become so callous as to ignore the plight of the children who could be the leaders of tomorrow? Is this process a slow cancer that ebbs away the foundation of humanity until one day we wake up and find out that our social structure is no longer based on family values, but on self satisfaction and worldly possessions? Or will we accept that this is progress and the price paid for that progress. What is one life in the magnitude of the world population? What happens when children become the last rung in the ladder of society’s importance? Ignored in the process for self-gratification.
Do we become blinded by the progression of a world that pushes children into beauty contests and strips away the opportunity for a normal childhood? To mold the mind of the child to become sexy and project an image of maturity. To feed the minds of those that have lost themselves in believing that a child can fill the hunger of their lives, lost to parents who ignored them. And what about those that focus on the children, the predators of society who say that it does no harm to have sex with a child. What about those children, their minds, and souls. What do they think and feel as they live in a world of nightmares and pain? What becomes of them as individuals, if they survive?

Sometimes death would be a blessing, to end the life of pain that some could never handle. Wounds that never heal. Bleeding wounds of survival that reach to the soul to never scar over. Just as a vase that is broken and glued back together, it remains from a distance a vase is basic design. But upon closer examination the cracks will show. Small pieces will be missing as they have been crushed when broken, never to be replaced. It will never ever be the same as it was constructed. No matter how much patience is used. How many children today have been broken and pieced back together? What would they tell you if they understood what is happening to them? Without help how long will the glue hold the pieces of their young lives together? How can children understand when we don’t understand, or refuse to recognize patterns of abuse? If I can help but one child in this world by telling my story, that others may look through my eye’s at the deceit of justification, if I can break the cycle of abuse in but one child’s life, then I have full filled my purpose in surviving. For what I have lived, no child should ever have to endure.
My name is Russell Reed Jr, and this is Estelle Good's story.