Title: Without the Glass

Written for bleodswean's prompt-a-thon

Chairs. Empty chairs. They are more powerful than you would imagine.

The floor is not water. It’s dented glass. It’s a world seeped into the ground. A world steeped in faces upturned, peering at our empty chairs. Peering at our empty world, waiting.

You can’t dent glass. You say.

This is a different kind of glass, one that doesn’t crack or shatter. One that merely magnifies and refracts our world into something it isn’t. Upturned faces look into our lie.


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