This short story may or may not pertain to current or non-current life events.
Walking down the Hall of Fame…it’s a great thing isn’t it? To see all these famous people is such a rush.
But what if you’re in the Hall of Fame?
Believe it or not I’m in the Hall of Fame.
Walk down the Main Hall and take a left at the first turn.
There, right smack dab in front of you on a dark shrine is my picture.
Do you know what I was famous for?
Breaking Hearts shouldn’t be something to be famous for now should it?
The sad thing is that I’m famous among the low life’s that do that for sport.
What’s worse is that it will never leave my name.
That picture on the wall is my curse.
The story of how I got my picture up on the wall is a story I desire not to tell.
It’s a horrible story though.
Sadness and sorrow lace the rims and seep in between the words.
I don’t understand how such a thing could make it into the Hall of Fame.
Shaking my head sadly I attempt to look away.
But the size of the shrine prevents my eyes from averting.
All I can see is this huge black frame lined with pure black coal.
A corrupted sight.
Even in anger the frame remains perfectly still.
Nothing can tear it down.
Not I, not You, not God.
All I desire is to live my life without this curse riding on my back.
I can’t forget it because everyone knows of it.
Everyone has seen my face on this dark shrine of dead hearts.
Even my own lover has seen it.
She doesn’t give me time to live it down.
Just like everyone else….
All I desire is to NOT be in the Hall of Fame.
I just want my picture removed from the wall.
Will this curse never leave me?
Am I cursed to damnation?