After the Explosion pt. 1

This is just part of a short story I started today.  I really don't have anything planned for it, it was more a cathartic experience.  I do think that it has potential to be a story, I just don't have anything outlined.  What do you think should happen next?  I am welcome to comments.

After The Explosion Pt. 1

Time keeps barraging me at my front door.  It’s all I can do to keep going.  I need to stop.  I need time to heal.  I wish I could curl up into a ball and spin myself a cocoon.  I would stay there for days – weeks, even, until I was new.  The irony is that time just keeps keeping on in a way in which I can’t keep up.

It’s been 2 weeks since the explosion, and things are still relatively quiet.  People don’t want to talk about it.  They pretend like it isn’t there, like it never happened.  They just want to keep existing as best they can without any change, yet it’s all I want to talk about.  How can you move past something without acknowledging it?  Yet, I am alone in my endeavors.  No one notices or will even help me.  My constant yapping on the subject makes me the equivalent of the village fool.

So here, yet again, I am alone.  I was alone before the explosion, or was I?  There were friends, always friends, and then a husband, my best friend.  There were people who cared about me, all lost in the explosion, yet they could never heal me.  I suppose that has to be my own decision.  How tragic that I had to drag my loved ones through those experiences with me, all the while believing that they could fix my anger, while it was I who held the key?  And now, they are gone.  How much time had I wasted in my selfishness?

Wasted time.  That’s all my life has been thus far.  Always wishing for a miracle but unwilling to face the simple truth that I have to face my demons.  I have to forgive the people who had wronged me, even if they would not take ownership for the pain they caused me.  Even if their own self-righteousness blinded them to the fact that they had stood in my way all these years.  That they had underestimated me.  That they had stunted my growth for their own purposes.

Calm.  All I feel is a warm calm, much like the warm mist wafting from a dormant volcano.  It is easy to stay calm when you’re alone.  Perhaps that is why I enjoy solitude, yet I wouldn't consider it a survival strategy.  Any outside influence can be a trigger to my anger.  “Oh, Thyme, you left the herbs out and now they are dry,” “Oh, Thyme, you didn’t deliver that message,” “Oh, no, looks like we’re out of water again.”  Why can’t anything just go right?  It’s as if some divine influence is poking me, prodding me towards the conclusion I am unwilling to face.  It is time for work, there is no time to rest.  I know this, yet I cannot unwind myself from the past.