The Shattering of the Glass Child
It’s been a decade or so since the identity as a glass child was assumed. A child willing to let everyone see each and every thought in hopes that someone, anyone, might be able to save her; to see what she couldn’t, the way out. An open book to any question asked, childhood stories and traumatic memories poured out with an expectation that someone would decipher the riddle that is surely hidden among a complex pattern, unseen.
As the years have passed, the thicker the glass. Distorting the view within, the density making it more difficult for even the most sincere soul to find the truth about what lay inside. The contents no longer able to be affected by the reality outside, all reaction ceased for a time as her insides froze. The stillness gave impressions of a satisfied soul to those new, young and hopeful, as so many before had been once. The glass child grew restless, convincing herself that anyone could see inside if they merely looked. She answered every question, wrote down every word; if someone wanted to see, they would.
One day, a small troupe grew near, peering deeply through the glass of the child. They stayed awhile, talking amongst themselves before turning to one another in frustration. “We cannot see because her glass is too thick. If she wanted us to help, she would break the glass.” A heat began to grow inside the child as these words brushed against her pressurized shell. “How dare you accuse me of not helping, I’ve shown the world everything. Those who cannot see merely do not want to.” The troupe tried to look closer only to find the heated glass was now foggy and more distorting. With heavy hearts, the troupe began to walk away.
With one boy lingering behind, the glass child became overwhelmed with her grief as the heat continued to rise. She screamed and yelled as her contents began to catch fire and melt, everything she’d been trying to share became ash and wet. Her shell was not tempered and as she burst from heat, hot shards of glass flew through the air, damaging the nearby troupe and as the melted ice flowed from her core, the last boy was swept away in the tidal wave.
No longer housed in a shell of glass, the childish soul was unbound and no longer distorted but as she looked around, she realized there was no one around trying to decipher her contents anymore. There was nothing left for anyone to see, decipher or love. The child was damp from the tears and thawed ice, covered in ash and blood, and alone.
