Shatter Like Glass

The window breaks. You watch as glass flies everywhere, blanketing the ground with glittering shards. At first you feel nothing. The window is gone but the difference is not yet clear. You see out into the world through the gap just as you always did. Then the glass bites at your arms as it flies, leaving marks on your skin, blood dripping to the floor. Then you feel the cold. Wind blows through the gaping hole and you shiver at its caress. You stand there, goosebumps rising on your flesh, for a short eternity before you finally move searching for a sweater. After twenty minutes of searching you finally find one at the bottom of your closet and as you shrug into it the rough wool scrapes against the wounds left by the window's destruction. You try to remember the last time you wore a sweater, already missing the silent protection the window offered without you even noticing. Sweater in place, you search for something to fill the gap. Eventually, you find a plastic sheet and tape it into place over the hole. Sweeping the shards to the side, you turn away from the carnage and go to bed. 

You wake the next morning and re-enter the kitchen. Habit takes over and as the coffee pot begins to heat you grab your sponge and turn to pull back the drapes before it comes back to you. You remember what happened and your hand falls, coming to rest on the marks on your arm. After a moment you sigh, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and turning back to your coffee.

As the weeks move on the wounds on your arms heal. You get used to wearing a sweater around the house. Eventually, you replace the window. But the new window is of a different style, more plain looking and sturdy than the previous one.  You still find glass from time to time in the carpet and for a moment it takes you back and you find yourself lost in that night again. As you become comfortable with the new window you wear sweaters around the house less and less but you never let them become buried quite so deep again. The window becomes part of your past but the scars will always remain.