Broken Aesthetic Novels & Stories

Her blue streak on the wall became a symbol of honesty and the courage to speak one’s truth, even when it was difficult. Franc began sculpting with broken materials—splintered wood, shattered glass, torn fabric. He called the series: “What Didn’t Stay Whole” Each piece had a note: _“This isn’t ruin. It’s what survived.”_ Franc’s sculptures were a testament to resilience and the beauty that can be found in brokenness. They were a reminder that life is full of challenges and setbacks, but that it’s how we rise from them that truly defines us. The notes accompanying each piece were a celebration of survival and the strength that comes from embracing our imperfections.

Its the first year my smile was real. I was happy though I couldn’t completely show it. From the moment I saw her in that dress, I couldn’t stop smiling on the inside. From head toe, hands down she was the prettiest girl tonight. Between her smooth copper tone, the rose gold shimmering of the dress, the dramatic gold makeup, and her hazel , Danica was perfect.

If he is her mate, then he would surely reject them seeing how ruined and disgusting she was. “Alice! Don't say that. The scars mean nothing. He is meant for us.” Lenore snapped at her. “Alice yelled out loud; as she slammed her fist into the mirror. The glass cracked and shattered but held inside the mirror frame. She looked at the mirror surprised that she had hit it. Surprised that it was still intact. She looked at the mirror and hated it. The mirror was broken but still together. It could never be fixed but it was still together. She gritted her teeth, becoming more and more angry. She was the mirror, damaged, broken, ugly, and never being completely shattered but never being able to be

Mine does too, But I learnt to smile, Against all odds. Heartbreak, Trauma, Depression, They made a home in me, Did they try same with you too? You're the kind of broken, That people far and wide, Would one day come to watch. Your scars would be beautiful, It'll shine for all to see. You're a different kind of beautiful, You're broken beautiful. A masterpiece, Most times isn't perfect. It's the flaws, That creates art. Be proud of yourself,

He nonchalantly closed off the magazine like he had suddenly lost interest with perusing pictures of naked women. I smiled to myself. I knew he'd rather eat nails than admit he was still in love with Ynacentia,his first love and fellow Antisocial personality disorder patient when he had had to be careful off to rehab when he was at the height of his behavioural disorder.Ynacentia had left the island along with her parents after she was declared ok to leave in the real world. "I've been not-so busy these days so I might slip in a little bit since I'm a bit bored around here"

With a sigh, I turned away from the front and looked behind me to see a girl at the last roll waving me over. I walked over to her, tentatively and smiled hesitantly at her. She was a sub, I could tell that much. Her black hair had sharp purple highlights, and her make-up was goth style and she was wearing completely black outfits. Elites didn't entertain oddities or uniqueness like that. “Sit beside me. You didn't know? The back seats are for us. I'm sorry you had to find out like that.” She said, as she gave me a pitiful look.

Forcing her sore muscles to support her, she walked over to the bathroom mirror and gasped. Her eye was swollen shut on one side – which she had figured, she was having trouble seeing but had made herself believe it was the low light in the bedroom. Her lips were cracked, there were scratches all over her face. Her nails that had been her pride and joy at the news station were completely wrecked. The manicure she had given herself a few days before – all nails a dark gray except for her ring nail a bright pink – was gone. It had made her smile every time she had looked down at it. Now the nail polish was chipped, in some cases no longer even there. For some reason, that depressed her more th

"Y-yeah... it's been a while." After the interview, he caught up with me and suggested coffee. I picked the café right by my office. "Iced Americano, no sugar, please." I ordered when the server approached. "But you always hated—" I brushed off his surprise. I used to think black coffee was unbearably bitter and would dump in sugar by the spoonful. Eventually I realized it wasn't bitterness—it was just the taste of reality. "People change their tastes," I said with a shrug. "Don't you think?"

I hadn’t been ready for her to go to school, I still wanted her at home with us, and that feeling had never gone away, especially now. “I hope you are going to fix those,” Deacon’s voice pulls me back from my trip down memory lane as he sits beside me on the bench. I look up at the headless statue with a frown. “I think they look better like this, they were kind of creepy,” Axel shrugs as he comes to sit on my other side. “That may be so, but they look expensive, and I think the owner of this house probably prefers them with their heads intact,” D sighs.

“You’ve got this sweet, innocent look that makes people think you’re harmless. That you don’t know how to play the game.” She smiled wider, as if that was her greatest victory. “It’s almost cute. Like a porcelain doll someone’s too scared to break.” Her words were like needles, sharp but coated in silk. “But don’t forget,” she added, her tone turning darker, “beauty like that can only get you so far. It fades. It cracks. And when it does, all that’s left is empty glass.” I held her gaze steadily, refusing to let her see me falter.