The man made of glass decided to go home.
He had been traveling for quite some time before he realized that he was lonely and that a hollow pain had begun to radiate from his stomach. He walked with the pain for a long time.
But sharp shards seemed to poke him at every bend, and a quick look down revealed a terrible, bleeding crack to the left of his belly button.
Perhaps a travel companion would be ideal.
A young woman just ahead of him was within earshot. She was petite and graceful, like a ballerina in a porcelain music box. The sight of her had an instant effect; the pain seemed to flit just out of reach, just for a minute or two.
And so he said.
Excuse me, kind miss, but may I lean on you for the payment of my company on your walk?
She was hesitant. His face was pained and his gait labored. She was in a bit of a hurry herself, needing to get back to her home before it became dark.
But because she was taught to be gracious, and because she was after all, the tiniest bit lonely, she allowed it.
They walked along the path, noticing the fragrant flowers growing along the edge, cooing at the furry critters that watched from a distance, munching on their dinners. They made small talk and enjoyed their surroundings when suddenly the young girl fell quite quiet.
Within ten minutes she had begun to slump.
Is there something wrong, miss?
She answered with silence.
For reasons you know deep down, he decided not to repeat his question.
But within minutes she had stopped moving altogether, still ignoring him.
The man felt very ashamed. Perhaps he was boring her.
The man felt very frustrated. He was slowing her down. He was a nuisance. Of course she didn’t want to walk with him anymore.
The man felt very annoyed. He didn’t even have to ask to know. He was limping, even though he was trying very hard to hide it, and she was beautiful and kind.
He was undeserving. He needed too much.
She was too good for him.
Maybe I need someone less delicate, a bit stronger?
So he thanked her, and she never met his eye contact, staring instead at
He pressed on alone for as long as he could. He only held his side when he was sure no one was looking.
Another woman passed him by. Her head was held high and she walked faster than his last companion.
She was perfect.
A lean for your company, my lady?
She was harder to convince.
She was in a hurry and needed to get to her destination in a timely fashion. He assured her that he would not hold her back, and could even speed up to match her pace.
So she agreed.
He immediately regretted their pact. This woman walked at the same pace as before, not slowing down as he hobbled along, just like she had promised. Intense pains shoot through his entire body as he stumbled into tree trunks and bushes. Finally, he grabbed her shoulder as hard as he could. He was so, so angry.
She walked as if he were whole. Who could be so cruel to a cripple?
She shrieked at his grasp. His face boiled like lava.
Without looking back he shoved her, as hard as he could, away from him.
He showed no concern as she continued to wail.
What a bitch.
His anger sustained him for quite some time and so he was able to pass a few travelers before his circumstances overcame him and he needed to rest against a moss-covered boulder.
Thankfully, someone was coming. She was humming, and then talking to herself. As soon as she came within his sight he flagged her down.
A lean, ma’am? I don’t have much further to go.
This wasn’t completely true. He was so disoriented that he didn’t actually know how far he had to go at this point.
He did know that he couldn’t go very far on his own.
She had been traveling alone for quite some time and was happy for the company. She was incredibly friendly, sharing her carefully packed trail snack. She sang songs to him, told him stories of her travels, and waited for him when he needed to rest. They walked for miles, long and lovely miles, and then one day they didn’t.
He had to leave her. He HAD to. The stories had turned into complaints, infrequently at first, but after a while, she spoke in only whines and whinnies. Everywhere he touched her she complained of pain, showing him blood that he didn’t understand, blaming him for her wounds.
She was getting so needy.
Who wants to deal with that.
She continued to implore. He began to resist.
He didn’t have time for this. He needed to get going.
He left her one morning before she woke up from a very sound slumber. He would never run into her again.
He continued like that, leaning on people who would take him as far as they could before they could no longer, and then he would move on.
Sometimes he would brave the path by himself, but he would always prefer a warm soul to walk with, and a kind voice to soothe him.
He continued this way until he reached his childhood home, hitchhiking from slender shoulder to shoulder, after what felt like years and years.
He turned to his most recent companion and kindly dismissed her before he turned the knob on the front door and was finally home.
There was relief waiting to wash over him. Finally. Rest.
He opened the door.
He heard a startled gasp.
It was his mother. The very sight of him reduced his mother to a puddle.
He too, began to sob. He wept, for all the pain he had ignored, all the companions who had abandoned him, all of the desolation of the journey ran down his face.
He reached for her.
I’m home.
His father, who had been in the back room came to see what had been worth interrupting his wife’s usually calm demeanor. He walked to the doorway of the front room.
He saw his son, the pride of his life, reaching for his mother, his face like rain.
He saw his wife, small, self- sacrificing, stretching out her arms and receiving her son deeply, protectively.
He, at breakneck speed, rushed forward, stepped between them, forced them apart, and pushed his son backwards with all his might.
The glass man gasped.
The glass man flew.
The glass man shattered against the wall into 101 pieces.
It was too late.
The woman turned to her husband. There were only minutes, now.
Everywhere her son’s body had touched her was sliced open. Her blood trickled down her breasts and hands, and even the small of her back where her son had pulled her into him was now torn and raw.
She reached for air. She reached for life. She reached for her husband.
She missed.
She died.
And so did a girl, outside of their front door, who now laying in a cold, sticky pool of herself
as well as a girl, her hiking preparations spilled from her hand, who froze in a ditch not far from her home
And also another girl, her face surprised and angry, laid stiff over a boulder, as if she had endeavored to pull herself out of the muck before she bled out completely
and a final girl, a feather of a person, slumped over a flower she had stopped to sniff as a pained goodbye.
They were sisters, now.
Connected by the shards of glass that had torn their lives from them
And labored, bloodied footprints.
2 Comments
The Glass Man is amazing. The fact he used every woman until they couldn’t take no more is to real. And his mother poor mom. Fellas if you reading this stop being a burden and step up. You don’t realize the footprint you put in people life’s until after the fact in most cases.
This was so deep! He even became frustrated with the women who attempted to help him but were worn down along the way.
So many women can relate to this.