Glass House

November 14th 2023

I watch as a lone, feminine figure moves about within the walls of a Glass House; her short brown hair falling just at her shoulders, wavy with the humidity of the late-summer morning. I observe as she moves from one room to another, and then another. Her strides are swift as she searches desperately within the transparent space, coming up empty-handed in every room. What I recognize as fear begins to fill her eyes, welling up and spilling over. She falls to her knees.

And then, she screams.

At first they are silent, inaudible to the passerby, and only recognizable by the anguish on her face behind the glass. Over and over and over, she screams.

Suddenly, with one compelling exhale, the wall before her shatters into sharp fragments that surround her bare feet and ankles. As she lifts her head, she realizes what the power of her breath has done and stands to her feet. She wipes her tears. The three adjacent walls soon fall.

The screaming is soon detectable, filling the air around the house, and before long, the Glass House in its entirety lays shattered on the ground. The woman walks barefoot, without as much as a wince in pain, and disappears into the tree line.

As I approach the house, I notice a pattern in the rubble; a discernible arrangement of glass formed from the remnants of the house, each room displaying a different word:

Self-doubt Hatred Anxiety Alcohol Depression Regret

And I begin to wonder if, in the woman’s desperation, she realized that the weight of her life was determined by the things she allowed to take up space in her mind. And so, she rid herself of the things that did not deserve a room.

Because closing the door isn’t always enough.

Sometimes it takes tearing the walls down completely.