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.