On Thin Ice

The regret shot through him with icy shards of venomous glass. The thorny knife blades dripping with poison slashed his soul and refused to quit. Every second grew worse and his brain screamed fury of the worst kind. He hated himself through and through, right down to that third freckle on his right hand. His heart bled and his eyes burned with the torrent of tears now soaking his face. His shoulders heaved in pure anguish, his body rocking back and forth and his throat choked with violent sobs.

But there was that single strand of hope that, in time, he would learn to snatch onto.