...You stuck your knife in me,
You tried to make me bleed.
You're not sorry,
Still not sorry.
We all make mistakes. Rather stupid ones at that.
You cheat your way through an exam, only to get caught when the graders realize your answers are exactly like the ones of the person sitting in front of you. You cook food in a crock pot, making the mistake of leaving it on high the entire day; and now, you come home to charred, bland food. You leave your child to his own devices, only to come home to the house in shambles, chocolate syrup all over the walls, floors, beds.
To list every mistake in the world would take an eternity; and technically speaking, we don't have eternity. We only have about 80 years each. Mind as well make the best of it, right?
But what if the best is more of the worst?
What if the worst mistake you made, was simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time?
The white doe has seated herself in front of the King's throne, the most glorious of sunbeams. Chased from the Blue Bowl by a pair of clowns, this is the only place she can find solitude now. Her head is spinning, but it's her heart that is working overtime, pumping,
burning, desperate to free itself from the cage that is her body.
She
should be keeping the wounded company, assuring them that they fought well, that everything will be alright. She
should be sitting silently beside them, a gesture of friendship, respect.
But she can't. She just can't.
She replays the scene from minutes before, and she replays it over and over; a hoof just about striking her face, yet she doges it just before it can collide with her helm. She had only been there a few seconds, waking from who knows what kind of sleep, and already, she was bombarded relentlessly.
Logic would have told her it was natural for the deer to react that way; her day had turned to shit relatively fast.
