by Christian Theodossy

I see them.

I see them through the fog. Behind the glass. Across the vastness of a chasm.

They say things to each other, things I want to hear, things I have to hear.

But they’re too far away, the fog is too thick. I can’t break through.

I try to say something to them, just so they’ll know I’m here, but I’m too quiet, they don’t hear me.

I’ll say it a little louder, maybe they’ll hear this time.

They don’t.

I shout, and a few of them look around like they noticed something.

But still, the glass stands. Unbreakable.

But I have to hear. I have to know.

So I work up as much voice as I can, and I take a deep breath.

And I shout.

I SHOUT at them.

All around me, all I hear is the sound of glass shattering, and all I see is the fog lifting.

And then I’m on the other side.

Then silence.

They stare at me like I had just appeared, and I realize how cold their stares are.

They start saying things again, and I can hear them this time.

But I don’t understand what they are saying.

It’s just not what I’d hoped.

All around me, the fog returns and the glass rises.

And then I’m on the other side.

It doesn’t seem so bad now, the fog, and the glass, and the chasm.

I feel safe.

And it’s not just the other side.

It’s my side.