The Shards

by Bret Easton Ellis

And I just stood there in the fading afternoon light, realizing at seventeen that I was already staring into my past—that the past had a meaning that would always define you. I remember this being one of my first moments nearing adulthood, when I realized how powerful memory was—or at least it was the first time it hurt the most. And there was nothing I could do about the pain of the past—it just settled over me.

But, then, I thought, as the fear started overriding my sadness: who deserved anything? We get what we get.

realized I’d been so afraid that I hadn’t even known it—the fear had been so massive and abstract—and now it was specific, and this caused me to stand, hunched, and glance over at the front door, figuring out an escape.