The Shattered Glass

A rush of steadiness fades hastily into the background. Christmas lights dangle like icicles overhead. Palm trees and sassafras finally come into focus. With every movement, the city lights penetrate through the massive windows, longing, wandering as to find festivity. High rise buildings tower like companions among the horizon. An outline for the scene rises undeniably into view: success and glamour reverberate through everything visible.


"Would you like champagne, my dear?"


"Why, of course," she says, as she savours the fineness given to her with subtle graciousness, knowing fully what uncertainty the object in her hand may represent.


She takes a long, deep breath, conscientiously inventorying the status of her composure. Lifting her drink, she toasts the air, saying satisfactorily, "Yes, I am here."


Without reserve, moments fly from next to next. Effortless, all things fall serenely into place. What once had been apprehension diffuses entirely into euphoric numbness. Whispers surround her by the hundreds saying candidly, it's meant to happen-- here is perfection--here is fulfillment-- and it's high time that you knew.


Then, a moment of dread, like a draft of death, quickly surges into the room. But she unabashedly waits-- as it is for what she had been waiting. She sees the shuddering stillness reflecting against what appears at the end of a mirrored gauntlet. The early anticipation of which she had made herself aware astounds everyone yet leaves her entirely unmoved. Sweeping across the room, the mirrored reflection emerges with the most horrid presence glaring into view. The presence… yes, the inevitable presence -- it is what silences those who crave to thrive; it is the source of hollow existence. To sacrifice first passions--this is a specialty. To find pleasure in static helplessness--this is given gladly if brave enough to cling forever in bored security. One gaze, one seduction is all that is necessary. The beauty of the presence: flawless. Everything that sways to lean for a touch fails to revive. Yet, the sparkling sequins of hypocrisy spread in tandem through the wind of her gown. The aesthetical aura she creates toxifies until stupor all who venture close enough.


Unmistakably, she proceeds to introduce herself.


"Hello, my name is Power & Prestige."


Abruptly, laughter once again fills the room. The orchestral music lightens the mood, and dampens all tendencies for serious interaction. Suddenly everyone forgets about the encounter. Instead, everyone smiles, everyone loves, and everyone gives without discretion. Ah, the simple perfection.



Slowly, yet firmly he grabs her hand. Time has frozen. The city lights, like a vacuous portal, suddenly siphon everyone without worth out of the room. There is nothing more, only the hollow shells of bodies taking up space. Their souls have been obliterated. She is alone. He is with her. Her heels begin to smash carelessly as she begins to run against the shards of the broken:


--her glass has fallen.


"Slow down," he says.


And so she walks, gladly aware of certainty for the first time in her life.


"Let's go," he says. "There is nothing more to be found."