Human

We stand on a thin sheet of glass. The crack begins from a distance. It approaches us, serene in its purpose. The crack passes beneath our feet, the sound of dry twigs snapping in the woods. The glass breaks uncertainly, a little island beneath us sways. Our bodies turn freely. The glass beneath no more pushes back. The air is shrill, like a siren warning of rupture. The island of glass is still stuck to the hinge. We are suspended between contradicting ideas of glass. Layers of glass stretch everywhere. We exist there, motionless. We crave for an explosion, to wipe out those infinite edges. Nothing happens.