Glass

By Gregory JM Kasunich

_________________

Everything was glass.

Safety glass.

Fiberglass.

The bones surrounding the marrow, nothing but glass, shattered and splintered along the road like the rest of the debris that littered 405 south that morning.

The windowpane of the indifferent apartment building, reflecting the scene, holding the witnesses inside with their muffled gasps.

The unseen stoplight glass – redgreenyellow repeat.

The eyeglasses found three days later, sixty-three feet from the scene.

The voice on the phone.

The time preserved.

Everything was glass.

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