They giggle as they skip towards me, youthful faces lit with joy. These same two little girls come for me every Saturday night, one -the oldest- is called Lizzie, and the youngest they call Peaches, though I suspect it’s a nickname. Neither of the girls could be any older than eight. Lizzie reaches for me; her small fingers hug and me I’m lifted into the air. “Hurry, they’ll be here any minute!” shrieks another girl from a different room; one of them must have company, “Coming!” Peaches yells back. Lizzie begins to sprint and I feel her grip loosen ever so slightly, perhaps without her realizing. I wonder if she’ll drop me, but I’m not frightened by the possibility, I even think it may be a good thing. Perhaps my shattering would be best.
Each week I’m unscrewed by the nimble fingers of one of the girls, they uncap me and bring me into the blackness of night -I now feel Lizzie’s fingers slip just a tad– We wait in the vulnerability of darkness until the light glow starts to appear slowly, gradually, the light intensifies, -Lizzie’s hand slips a little more- The girls are usually still for a moment, just gazing at these magnificent beings, and who can blame them? Their simply breath taking! They look as bright as the stars in the sky, sometimes I wonder if they are, fallen stars searching for a way home. Then there’s me, I’m forced to act as a torture device to these majestic, whimsical creatures.
I resent these little girls for exploiting my purpose in such a cruel way. I’d be perfect for containing sweet jam or perhaps some pickles, but I’m forced to live a life of guilt. I’m so deceiving, I’m clear as can be, yet when the shimmering beings try to escape to freedom, or perhaps go back to their families they can’t. I conceal the most beautiful of creatures, causing them panic and distress. They yearn for the comfort of their friends. They ram into me searching for a way out, over and over. The tap of their bodies against my glass sends waves of intensified guilt to my conscience, I feel like a monster and I’m sure they think of me with the same dislike. -Lizzie’s hand begins to sweat as she continues to run, it’s only been seconds since she lifted me but it feels like it’s been days- The wondrous beings are always set free at the end of the night, but are inevitably left frightened and sometimes traumatized, their sense of direction is usually disoriented, making it difficult for them to find their way back to their families, that is the worst part of all.
Every night brings terror as I enter my dreams from the perspective of my victims. Trapped, panicked, worried, scared, I fly into the glass hitting it as hard as I can, hoping for just one little crack. Overwhelmed with frustration I begin to fly in circles around and around, over and over, until the dizziness overthrows my balance and I collapse, I lay down feeling defeated, waiting for my surroundings to stop spinning. Finally I gain enough strength to return to flight, I ram against the glass producing the sounds that are like poison to my sanity, tap, tap, tap. This is usually where I wake up, the tapping sounds make me nauseous, both in reality and in my dreams.
There isn’t a moment where I’m not aching with guilt, but what can an inanimate object do? I certainly can’t move on my own, or protest, or rebel. But in my mind I’m running away, never again to be used in such a cruel manor. In my mind I’m refusing to let them use me for means of torture to such glorious creatures. In my mind I’m setting the fallen stars back to freedom as soon as their captured. But in reality I’m powerless; unable to do anything, make any decisions, or resist anything those “innocent” girls choose to use me for.
There is another slip from Lizzie’s hands, and the very real possibility that she may drop me makes me anxious as I evaluate how much longer I have until they use me once again in the sickening way they always do. I only have a matter of minutes before the stars fall, and mere seconds before we reach the back porch, where Lizzie will surely secure her grip on me, eliminating any possibility I have of shattering. The death of me would mean the freedom for the stars, and all it would take is one more slip of Lizzie’s fingers to send me crashing to the ground.
I grow sick as we get closer to the porch with every step, I know if I’m not dropped in a matter of seconds I will be used as a jail for these radiant, glistening creatures once again. I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle another night enclosing so many stars in my sixteen ounce space.
Lizzie’s fingers slip one last time and finally I’m falling! The journey to the ground feels like a lifetime, my anticipation grows as I inch closer to the end of my existence. This is for all the stars I’ve ever captured, traumatized, confused, or frightened. Finally my days of endless guilt will be over, my life as a torture tool is ending.
I’m so close to the end I can taste it, and at last I crash to the floor shattering into a million pieces, representing the millions of shining beings that will never have to go through the torture of being trapped. The jar is shattered, I am shattered, at last stars, you are free.
