Glass House
It has been 5 years since I left the glass house. I remember the wolves waiting, watching. Their hunger staring through the translucent barrier. Never did they expect such an opportunity.
As I stepped out, they attacked. Other occupants followed me through the front door, stopping within the safety of the porch. They cast stones and cast words at my back.
The wolves pulling, ripping, devouring. It had been ages since such an opportunity was given to them. Ripping, shaking, and blood covered, they would run off in delight before fully finishing the deed.
I would crawl. A hole would provide refuge. A hole is where I would wait, and wait I would.
Finally, I returned.
The wolves crouched at my approach. A fiery energy screamed, “Bite and you shall burn.” They understood.
The glass homes still stood side by side. Visually, not much had changed. The same people occupied the same spaces, yet something was different. The comfort of home, once a luxury, was now a trap.
When the first eyes fell upon my approach, all became aware. They stood staring through the glass. My survival was a threat to the stories that preserved their existence.
They began casting words, which looked like silent mouthings through the muting glass. The words echoed throughout their structures. The echoes grew louder. A vibration struck their eardrums. It was a shredding and painful screech. Pain. They became angry.
They gripped their stones. From within, all at once, they cast their stones. The stones stopped short of their target, slamming into the protective structures surrounding them. Crashing and shattering, glass fell like rain.
Screams.
Then silence.
The wolves stared.