The Glass Doll

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“Don’t break me!”

“I’m glass.”

Fragile despite my hard structure, all know to handle me with care. But is it for my protection? I believe it is for theirs. A beautiful figure I am. Delicate. Inflexible. That’s me. I glisten with all those fine and pretty things. I know parts of me are transparent. I like it that way. Other parts are hidden – they’ll always stay that way.

I’ve found myself on pedestals. I’ve even been put on a shelf or two. The fear of falling is overwhelming; could it be for them too? For when I fall my delicate form will shatter into a thousand splinters upon the floor. The pain and heat which created me will be gone no more. Fractured. Dangerous. That will be me. They’ll stand in the corners with a fright as pieces of me nip under their skin. Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. Until I am nothing again.

“Ouch,” they will screech when I have long been a discarded heap. For even when they cast me away, under their skin, I will stay.