The Girl Inside The Glass

I was alone until I met her.
My best friend. My only friend.
But she is trapped in the glass. I will save her.

My both sides of the story competiton entry.


6. Falling together

Two weeks later...


“Are you ready to talk now?”

I shook my head, unwilling to even acknowledge the physiatrist. He adjusted his glasses, sighing impatiently, “You will have to talk to me sooner or later.”

I turned away and stared blankly into nothingness.

It had been two weeks now. Two weeks since I had almost drowned.  Two weeks since my mother had dragged me out the water. Two weeks since I had been taken to hospital.

Two weeks since they found my secret cuts.

They made the logical assumption.

Attempted suicide. I hear those words everywhere I go. But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.

My friend had died. She had died in the water. Reaching out for me, bubbles escaping her mouth.

Bubbles propelled by screams.

I had failed her.

Now I just spend my days lying in my hospital bed. Ignoring the nurses. Ignoring the doctors.

Ignoring my mother.

That is the hardest. She visits me frequently. Often she crumbles and starts to cry, saying that this is all her fault. That she’s a failure. Sometimes I want to shout at her to stop. To shout that I am the failure, not her.

But I keep my mouth shut.

Perhaps I do blame her.

Perhaps sometimes I wish she had left me in the water. That way I would be with my friend.

We sat in silence; my physiatrist and I. The room was many storeys high, perhaps to take the patient away from the everyday chaos below. It was modern and simplistic, with a few comfy chairs and basic furniture. A lot of light was let in from the massive windows that covered every wall.

I stared through the window, over the streets where people scurried like ants.

I despised them all.

But then I stopped staring through the glass and looked inside the glass.

I gasped - there was a girl, staring back at me.


Her eyes are full of sorrow and accusation. “Why didn’t you save me?” They ask.

I rise to my feet. This time nothing will stop me.

“What are you doing?” My physiatrist asks but I carry on silently towards the window. My hand presses against hers. She moves forward and mouths “Help me.”

I feel panic rising inside me. She is trapped in the glass.

I must free her. I will free her.

With a shriek I begin pounding the window. My fists are hammering; blood is spilling from my knuckles but the glass remains strong. I run and pull a fire extinguisher from the wall and try to return to the window, but the stupid man stands in my way. His hands are raised in a way that is supposed to be calming. “Put that down,” he says softly, reaching subtly towards the fire extinguisher.

I know what I have to do. I look into the glass for conformation. The girl’s face is set; determined.

So is mine.

I swing the fire extinguisher and it slams into the physiatrist’s skull. He crumples to the ground, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Rage is surging through my veins like an inferno and I keep hitting him.

Suddenly I am Stephanie, standing over the body of her victim. And I love it.

I realise that we aren’t so different after all.

His head is deflating like a balloon that finally bursts in an explosion of gore. I step unsteadily over the corpse, my foot crushing his fallen glasses.

My gaze lingers on the sleek table. A photo sits on the smooth surface. Inside the frame I see the physiatrist laughing, his arm around a smiling woman. Two young girls sit beside them, plaiting each others silky blonde hair.

Numbly, I wonder if the girls will be sad when their dad dosen't come home. 

I cry and smash the happy faces, before continuing onwards.

I heave my weapon into the air again and bring it down onto the window. Cracks form, spreading like spider web. I continue, harder and harder screaming in desperation.

Until finally, the world shatters.

I drop into nothingness.


I am falling in a rain of broken glass.

I don’t know where I’m falling, only that I no longer fall alone.

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