It must be made of glass.
I lay my hands on it. It feels cold. Too cold.
I can get out easily. I push on it. The wall quivers then moves with an Earth shaking rumble. But it moves towards me. They all move around me.
Suddenly the space is too small. Desperation creeps in. It must be made of glass. Of course I can break free. I can get out. I pound on the wall until my fists are raw and pulsing with impact. But the walls only close in.
The air is tight. My screams do not linger. Snuffed out like a bare hand over a candle.
How did I get here? Did I willingly walk in? Was I placed? Was I violently thrown in without my knowledge? I was aware wasn’t I?
It only seemed like glass…
I can’t get out. The futility pounds my head as I hear glass shattering. Only the glass wasn’t outside. It was within the small, empty space in the centre of my chest.