[Short Story] The Crystal Glass

It was like crystal glass, adorned with ornaments and carvings that everyone admired and envied. One of a kind, yet so delicate. So delicate that you had to be careful while drinking from it. That’s why it was never placed near the edge. It always had to be kept safe. And it was safe. It stood out, yet there was something peculiar about it. As if it were trying to dim its own flamboyance, to avoid drawing too much attention. But it couldn’t hide. Anyone with eyes could see it, though not everyone with a heart could understand it. It was safe. Until the table started shaking. With each tremor, the glass inched closer to the edge—closer, and closer still, until it teetered, unsteady, right at the brink. Even then, it was still safe. Then, you got thirsty. You poured water into the glass. Each drop put it in danger. You didn’t notice—or maybe you didn’t want to. Or perhaps you knew there was no other way to quench your thirst. And then the glass fell. It shattered into countless pieces. You pretended it hadn’t happened— or you wanted to pretend. Or better, you never wanted the glass to break, to come that close to the edge. Then, you even forgot it, sometimes. But the thirst—it reminded you constantly. It was always there, gnawing at you. You needed what the glass has always provided you. Eventually, you returned. Somehow, you stepped on the shards. Pain shot through your foot as it bled. You kept walking. And then you saw the others. All with bleeding feet, all thirsty. It wasn’t safe anymore. 

November 21, 2024