The Shattered
You smashed the glass last night. It rang out like a disgraced church bell, yelling all down the street about how it crumbled against your anger. It sent you on the run like a harbour rat at the sight of light. Shards lay sharp in the street like shredded bones glinting in car headlights, as passers by step over the pieces, not stopping to ask why, or caring to know. Everything shatters in this city, glass and people alike. Not a single person asks, because they know. They rather walk on mended bones, than on shattered glass.