Glass Cup

I always thought it was ridiculous how people drop things in shock. It affects your mind, without even the slightest impact on your hand muscles.


I was wrong.


Never had I experienced such horror before. My fingers went numb, and I felt the cup slip out of my grasp almost in slow motion.


And then it was falling, falling towards the ground. I nearly crumpled too.


“No,” I choked.


The implosion of the glass broke through the murkiness of my brain. I watched as the cup shattered into thousands of pieces with a piercing squeal, the glass shiny and hopeful despite its newly broken state. I vaguely registered some splinters try to penetrate my jeans, but I didn’t feel any pain. Or perhaps I was past feeling.


I turned and ran. I heard the crunch of glass under my feet, admonishing me of my cowardice, warning me of the danger.


The danger.


I could still hardly believe it. I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut.


All I could see was the plummeting glass fracturing over and over again.

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