The blazing light nears casting shadows among the rest of the world. A speck of light is shed, it beautifully glistens in the glow of the captor. Seizing every eye in sight. Beauty can only be held for a minute before it escapes in a rushing flow leaving an empty trail of nothingness. A minute may pass by, maybe an hour, a day, or a year. Even then in seconds it can be all gone, once held together by beauty and hope, and in seconds with a slip everything can be shattered, broken. Like a glass once it is broken it can never be whole. It can be fixed, piece by piece glued together, but it can never truly be whole. Once pieced together what remains? A glass, a once translucent glass stands plagued with cracks. No longer serving its purpose. Apologize, say sorry. Will an apology truly fix anything? The cracks will still be there the day after tomorrow. If you leave will it change anything? No, it won't, but we probably will leave after the damage is done. It will no longer glisten like it once did, it will fade away, just to be thrown away into the oblivion of nothingness. It's beauty stolen in only seconds. We don't realize the effects caused by the “little things” we do. We break an insignificant glass, the same way we destroy the spark hidden underneath.
Stephen Mech could be described as perfect, someone envied, if only they knew. If they knew the truth between reality and a dream where they collide to create chaos, they wouldn’t envy him, they would look away; his name would be in every whisper that filled the hallway. He stood consumed by waves of thoughts that he buried along the shores of his mind. With every secret he held, the tighter the chains he carried grew, if only they knew. They had already torn him apart before, inch by inch, thread by thread, till there was nothing left, just specks of dust and ashes that once burned brightly. He knew he couldn’t let them extinguish the last spark he worked so hard to preserve. Stephen couldn't escape, he knew it. His past followed him like a never ending nightmare.The never ending flashes swelled against his eyelids trying to be pried open. It was always the same memory, stuck on repeat.
“Please Don't!” a shriek erupted from the lips of the lady whose thin body was collapsed on the floor. “Don't touch him!” she screamed before the bullet erupted piercing her fragile body. The echo trapped screaming to get out  before the room began to spin.Stephen knew it, he was next, the man stood over his mother's body. Stephen quickly grabbed a glass of water, his hands trembled as he broke the glass against the man's head. The silence clung to the tension that filled the air. The body dropped to the ground, the carpet soaking in the bloody red liquid. The stain seeping, inching closer, the man he had once called father laid before him.Everything went black, as Stephen's own screams awakened  him. Leaving him trembling and ice cold. He wept. The cries at night were smothered by the chirping of the crickets, that would rock him to sleep, cradled by the night. The nights grew shorter, the days grew longer, but yet  everything stayed the same. Only they didn’t, not for Stephen. He knew it, as the time grew longer the chains seemed to weigh him down. It had been three months and they did not know yet, they would though, it was only a matter of time. They always found out. The more he thought he knew not to trust anyone. He knew better then to jeopardize this facade of perfection.
“Did you hear about Stephen Mech?” and thus it started. A haunting whisper beats down, like a lost soul floating among the wind, the bitter melody filled the air, as it rushed to fill the atmosphere. A language that felt like a haze of all too familiar words, that echoed through the breeze like a cry whisked away. He tried, but every word spoken tore him apart, it no longer lingered along the surface to be brushed off. The words clung to his skin digging deeper tearing into the skin in its path. He couldn’t bury his thoughts like he had done before.
“Do you see this glass of water?” he yelled to the people who stood before him, bewildered glares shot his way. “Drop it.” he handed the glass to a familiar face. The girl did as she was told.  “Apologize.”
“I'm sorry.” she whispered as her voice vigorously trembled, her eyes filled with tears.
“Did it fix anything?” Stephen asked accusingly.
“No”
“What if you were to glue it?”
“It'll be a cracked glass.” the girl stood isolated as tears begun to spring from her eyes. Her voice a mere whisper.
“ Will it still be cracked if you were to walk away?” Stephen's gaze was directed to the people surrounding them. Their expressions softened, some looked defeated because they knew the hollow path, the facade that must be kept, the lies they were buried in, the feeling of drowning with every  breath, the storm they were living, he knew how it all felt.
“Yes.”
“Walking away won't change anything?”
“No.”
  “Nothing is going to change the fact that it is now cracked, did it deserve for you to smash it to the ground without a care in the world? No, but you did it anyways, right? You didn’t think about what would happen, right? So now I ask you to look around. What do you see?” the crowd stood looking curiously at one another. “All I see is broken glass all around, we do not see what we cause, how we hurt and walk away, because we feel it is our only option, to leave what has been broken, what we tore apart.” Stephen's voice cracked as he choked on his words,  his voice had echoed through the hallways, but yet everything seemed to stand still, frozen in time. Awaiting to resume to the normal chaotic madness. The boy who felt so broken, the boy who ran against currents and a world full of hurricanes to get away from his past that chased him only to be thrown into a lighting storm left alone to find shelter. Finally, he had a reason to stop running to realize how the flowers slowly bloomed on a midsummer day, how they grow, then are taken through a journey where they wilt and fade away. Finally, he could hold onto the slightest bit of hope without falling into despair of losing its value. Shephen Mech wasn’t perfect, he never was, he never will be but he didn’t have to hold up a facade that he longed to tear away. He didn’t need to keep a hollow smile that hid so much pain. He held onto the spark that he called his own. He was a broken glass, plagued by cracks but was still left standing.