Shatter Me

I traced my name across the spine of the book, “SHATTER ME by Haisley Adams.” Careful not to pick it up, lest someone sees a floating novel. I still couldn’t believe it: my book was being sold at little corner booths like this all over the world. The fog was so thick today you could cut it with a knife. So I was able to grace the streets of Seattle undetected. It’s the main reason why I chose to settle here. It’s almost as if the sun shies away from the place.

 Long ago, my mom traded the soul of her first born daughter to a demon for someone to love her. After I was born she realized the mistake she made. She used her magic to make me invisible. But instead of my physical properties being akin to smoke, they are akin to glass. Kind of sounds like a cosmic joke, huh? The thing you so badly want to protect becomes made of glass?

Anyway, it’s been centuries since then. My mother is long gone. One of the side effects to my mother’s tamperings with my body was giving me eternal life. Which is how I find myself still alive at the ripe age of 222. I don’t know if I’ve aged well since I haven’t ever seen myself. 

You would think that it would be easy to hide if you were invisible. But you can still be touched, still be heard, and still leave a mark. My mother would be disappointed to know that being invisible wasn’t enough. Eric, the demon she dealt with, found me. It only took him 222 years but still. 

I’ve grown tired of trying to exist without existing. I’ve made repeated attempts to fit in. A few times people thought I was a ghost and tried to exorcise me. That was fun. You know, maybe in another life I would’ve kept going down that path. I probably would have a few horror movies made after me by now! I watch people communicate and long to gaze into someone’s eyes and see mine reflected back. There is no life to live when you’re made of glass. 

I turned the corner onto an old residential street. When I reached my home, I made my way up the worn stone steps and let myself in. Sitting at a table doing a puzzle, was John. His glasses were slightly askew and his cigarette was ashing on the floor. He was too focused to notice. Somehow his arthritic fingers couldn’t keep him from picking up his puzzle pieces.I sat down in the chair across from him with a creak and picked up a piece to join him. 

“Good afternoon Ellie, dear,” his voice came out raspy from the smoke. In response, I patted his hand. 

Bless the old man’s heart he thought I was the ghost of his late wife. He must’ve really loved her since he lets her “ghost” reside here. It’s like winning the lottery for me. I’ve had a stable home in Seattle for a few years now. Ellie was a writer so John thinks nothing of it when I use the computer to write. It has allowed me to finally communicate with the world. Unfortunately, it also gave Eric a huge beacon to use to find me. But I knew it was going to do that.

A week after my book hit the shelves, Eric found me in the park. Of course I knew he would show up soon. I could smell his scent of woodsmoke before he announced his presence. He couldn’t tell, but he had approached me from the front, mistaking it for my back. I had a good clear view of the soft brown hair brushing his eyelashes and below that, his chestnut eyes. For once, I didn’t shy away in the other direction. I stood there in the sun and let it reflect off of me, smiling when it blinded him.

“I haven’t come here to bring you to death’s door,” he began. “In 222 years I’ve found many other souls to do my bidding. Plus, you interest me.”

“I don’t want to be invisible anymore,” my voice caught in my throat from disuse. 

Eric propped himself up against a tree and said “Haisley, I’m not the one meant to break your glass.”

“Then who is?” I countered. He only shrugged and was gone. The bastard was as mysterious as the Cheshire Cat. He even had that blasted knowing grin down pat.

I sat on the park bench and pondered our conversation for a while. It was then I decided I was going to try to break my glass. Of course, I had tried before but fear of Eric had held me back from really putting my mind to it.

I tried hitting myself with everything I could think of. Let me tell you, it’s incredibly hard to smash glass by hitting yourself when your flesh still feels every strike. After healing from those wounds, I hiked into the mountains and tried shrieking. I shrieked until my throat was raw and I was coughing up blood. 

At this point, I’m feeling pretty damn angry.

After working on the puzzle with John, I decided to walk back out into downtown. The city was aglow with streetlights and the distant rays of the setting sun. I paused at a pastry cart getting ready to shut down for the day and nicked myself a raspberry danish, leaving cash in its empty space. My mouth flooded with the sweetness of it as I shoved the soft dough past my lips before someone saw a floating bakery item. A breeze blew through the street, in it, the charged energy of a coming storm brought goosebumps. I tried to relish in the fact that I was alive and no longer had Eric to fear. Even if I still couldn’t be seen. In the middle of my musings, I noticed a man carrying an armful of books and as he passed a trash can, he dumped one in it. In its fall I glimpsed the cover. My cover. 

“What are you doing?!” I demanded, no longer concerned about what others might think. The man looked around in confusion as the other pedestrians walked on, ignoring him. 

“That is not trash! That is my book! I’m Haisley Adams!”

The sound of glass shattering assaulted my ears like the crack of a gunshot.