The Glass House ( Unfinished )

   You can tell a lot about a person on how they act, Speak, and generally look at you.

You can tell at that very instant what feelings the person is full of. You can smell their fear, you can taste their sweat, and feel their beady wide spread exasperation. But some people can hide their emotions deep within themselves. Making it difficult for the most trained professions to look deeply within their souls. I ask you this. Is it always a good thing to see and feel ones emotions, or peer into the depths of their tiny, shriveled souls?

Maybe there is something we shouldn't see, something we shouldn't feel. Something that may take us into the dark base of reality, and we will loose are self in the wonderment of what really goes on inside of the mind? 

The day was young in the small, still asleep town. The allies were vacant and the streets, sidewalks, and park were completely dead silent. 

The swings that hang from their rusted hinges squeak with the wind. The sand boxes were frozen solid from the nights frigid air. Shattered glass lead a trail across the play ground, easily noticeable by a young child. The glass trail lead out of the play ground, across the street, down the side walk, and into a small narrow ally way. The small light green glass became less and less frequent as the trail went on. The trail traced past the ally way, and through the street behind it. Leading down a dirt path, over rocks and tire marks. There in still silence was an old ranch home. It was small and surrounded by nothing. The grass around it was dry and dead. The Hinges on the roof were faded and half off of the roof. The windows were smashed, and the door was cracked open. Inside the glass was piled up on the floor, and on the walls like sea glass. The ceiling was coated in a large explosion of colorful glasses, Just like a Mosaic at one of the finest churches. An unsure feeling exasperated from the bed room. A man laid face down on the bed. He was still, his clothing was dripping with water. His eyes were closed. The bedroom was covered in multicolored glass as well. The man had cuts and scars on his finger tips, his bare feet were strongly callused and hung from the edge of the bed. No sound, or movement came from this man. Was he dead?

The window to the left of the bed was open and cast in a cool breeze, as well as sunlight, making the glass covered walls shine brightly. Like starts the light reflections of the glass dances around the room like a disco ball. and then it faded as quickly as it came. leaving the man alone in his own silence.