Glass Box



Glass Box


My body feels heavy against the glass. I woke up a few minutes ago to see the ground below me and walls to either side of me. I am stuck in a glass box. I don’t know how I got here, who put me here, much less why. Each time I let out a breath the glass fogs and I have to gently wipe it away so I can see below me. There are people walking back and forth below me, I scramble to try and sit up but I cannot because I am stuck in the fetal position, barely able to lift my head. I review my body and realize I am naked. There is nothing near to cover myself up and I fear that the people below will look up and see me, ready to fall through the glass to the ground, bones shattering just as if they were part of the box itself. I use one arm to prop myself up and the other to block the light that is coming through the top of the box. It would seem that I am attached to the ceiling of some building, but I suppose that I am too high up for people to notice. The roof of the building is made of glass, it appears to catch the light differently than the glass of this box. The whole ceiling glitters, the light shining through onto the people down below. The beauty of this terrible situation just makes me want to try to escape but I know that one movement could make the box fall. So I stay put, making soft movements when I must. I accept that I am here, that I am stuck until whoever put me here decides to let me out, or I fall.

            I watch as the people below walk back and forth, hurrying to their next meeting in their fancy suits and ties, jumpers and high heels. Shouldn’t that be me? Do I have somewhere to be today? I feel like I should be worried, stressed about getting out of here. But then what’s the point, freak out and fall to my death?

            At what appears to be lunch time, a man sits on the sides of a fountain eating his sandwich. Each bite is careful, slow. He is appreciating each bite, maybe he is scared that it will fall from his hand and he will have to throw it away. As I watch him take his next bite, he looks up at me. Chewing and staring and it is at this moment that I realize I cannot be seen. This glass allows me to look out but nobody to look in, because if he had seen me he would have stopped chewing. He swallows and looks back down at his sandwich, taking his last bite and tossing away the wrapper in the trash can next to him.

            The ceiling begins to turn orange and pink and the numbers of people walking in and out of the building are beginning to dwindle. The day is almost over and I am still in this box. My thoughts wander back to the man eating his sandwich and my body starts to ache. Pins and needles in my stomach. I feel like I am going to vomit, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to lay in my vomit. So when I feel it start to creep its way up my throat I swallow it down. My body starts to feel lighter and the glass is getting colder. Like ice tickling my legs. I have waited patiently all day and I am ready to leave. Whatever game this is, I am ready for it to end. I look at the ground directly below me, tile, and a column a few feet away with a trash can up against it. A woman is leaning with one foot to the wall, typing away on her phone. If I were to fall now, she would be able to call 911 and someone could come help, but if I fall in the middle of the night, there is less of a chance of someone being there to call for help.

            My decision is made, I will fall. I start by knocking on the glass, seeing how strong it is. A little tap, nothing. My heart is racing at the thought of what I am about to do. Suddenly the box isn’t so cold anymore, now my body is sticky and sweating. I straighten out my legs and push on a wall of the box. When nothing happens I bring my legs back into me and my toes get stuck as I pull away. Then I kick and a shock of lightning goes up my spine starting in my foot as I swivel from side to side. I kick again and my toes feel the cracks that are forming. I bang my fists below me and there is a long crack going down the center of the bottom of the box. It makes the skin on my back shiver and all the hair stand up. One more bang and I can feel the glass disappear underneath me then the air is cradling me. Shards whiz past my face and I hear them crash to the ground and shatter, little sparks glistening in the afternoon light. My hair is flying all around my face, little strands sticking to the cold sweat on my forehead. I take in a deep breath as I fall and then I clatter to the ground and I really do feel like glass. Everything is broken. The box is stuck in my back and legs, my arms. The floor is painted red and my naked body is a beautiful carpet for people to step on. The woman that was leaning against the wall is shrieking, backing her body against the column. I am a spectacle, people are watching, they can finally see me the way I saw them. I close my eyes as blood drips into my mouth. I swallow and fall into sleep.


Eli S. 

Eli S. is twenty-one years old and living in Jacksonville Florida. They attend University full-time where they are majoring in English and write short fiction stories and poetry during their free time. They have one previously published work, a poem in Appelley’s 2017-2018 Rising Star’s Collection. Eli has recently taken a liking to writing horror in their small apartment, which often leaves them nervous at night.  


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