Out in a field beyond my house glass people danced. They spun and laughed, suffocated with joy. They shined bright with untouched youth and innocence. They were unaware of all the things they should be wary of. I joined them. I joined in their hollers and songs and games. All is right with the butter-soft sun beaming down on the unmarred childishness of the day.
The sun left and the moon settled in over the sky. They moved on still, shifting together, unbothered by the darkness that surrounded them. I left with the day and went inside. When the sun had chased away all that is bad I merged with their movements once more and become one of them.
I am not glass, but they welcomed me nonetheless. We played in the field with the flowers and bugs and hummed with the wind. I would leave for another day, they continued on all the same. They stayed out in the yard no matter what happened, whether it rained, snowed, or shined. I started to stay with them even at night.
All is good until one shattered and broke. None of the others turned to look. The once glass girl was now in pieces on the ground. I picked one shard up, the others ignored it still. I held the shattered part of one of my friends and looked upon its dazzling color, life, history, all blended together. Beautiful, but dangerous. It cut into my hands and feet. The other danced as they turned away from the broken glass. I rejoined them leaving my friend in the grass to never be touched or seen again.
Our day continued on the same until another one broke and they too fell to rubble on the floor. Eventually, they all fractured, but none faltered as their friends got struck down. No one noticed the sharp edges, no one saw my cut-up feet. I danced on, no one else saw it, no one noticed. I turned away too. It must not be real.
Margaret Charlton is a freshman at California Polytechnic for a bachelor’s degree in English with two past publications in Teen Ink.
BOMBFIRE 