Fear Of Broken Glass

Prologue

Prologue

I dream of a bird

He hung suspended in the air. In that briefest of moments that lasted an eternity, he knew. He knew why they said people saw their life flash by, voices from the past already playing.

I dream of an eagle

'Do you want the good news or the bad news first?'

Then, like a diver sinking down, he looked backwards and upwards, up at the surface of his former life with arms outstretched, unable to see the land of contrasts to which he could never return.

'The good news first.'

The sensation lasted but a moment; a brief sense of confusion as the sky inverted, replaced by the stairs – each step so sharp and detailed it could have been a photograph taken by a large format camera. He could take in every tread of weathered pine wood, seeing the pine cones littering their surfaces, the tell-tale print of mud made moments before by his own boots.

I dream I fly

So many steps followed by an inevitable look of physical incomprehension, his mind liberated from his body as it accelerated beyond the first momentary feeling of weightlessness. And yet, he still had time, time to take in rounded forms of smoothly formed rock, before his mind caught up to tell him, this is it, you're falling. You are going to die.

'The good news is it might be worth something.'

I am flying on wings, so high

He accepted his fate the moment he sensed disconnection from the physical world, his forward motion drawing him onwards and downwards, towards the inevitable he already knew was coming.

'At least five thousand US at auction...'

He saw Justin standing there, like one of the magi bearing gifts for an infant King and yet, it was his own voice he heard.

'Maybe more if you can find a collector who is interested.'

The first impact happened at the twenty-third step. He hit it with the back of his head, severing part of his scalp and compressing the first four vertebrae of his neck.

Like a great bird of the sky

Down, downwards, accelerating, eighty-two kilograms of adult male increasing in rotational momentum, arms and legs flayed by the pull of gravity.

'So what's the bad news?'

The fifteenth step shattered his back at the junction between the cervical and thoracic spine. The impact forced the seventh vertebrae to cut through the central nerve system, removing him of any future mobility.

I'm the eagle flying with ease

'The bad news is, that if it was an original, it would be worth at least ten times that.'

The body succumbing to the simple laws of physics, legs spinning backwards and outwards in the course of the third revolution.

The body hit the seventh step left-leg first...

'Which means it's by an amateur, painting in the style of.'

... followed by a sharp crack as if from a whip, shattering the lower fibula and tibia half way between the knee and ankle, the tibia slicing through the muscular tissue of his lower leg.

'I need more time to make a more detailed search.'

I can ride on the breeze

The left arm snapped at the ulna radius, the body commencing one final rotation.

'For the time being consider it like a sparkling wine...'

The fourth and last impact landed on the cheek bone and lower jaw, mandible dislocating as he hit the ground. The broken edge of the tibia punctured the remaining muscle, piercing upwards through the softer subcutaneous tissue.

Over these mountains and forests

'It looks and feels just like the real thing, but it isn't Champagne... my advice is keep it and don't bother selling it. But it does have merit. It's a nice little piece.'

He was still alive. He felt sunshine, heard footsteps.

Like a ship on the seas

The footsteps were getting louder. He opened his eyes feeling unfamiliar. His mouth and jaw felt strange, recognising the metallic taste of large quantities of blood coming from somewhere inside his cheek. He tried to raise his head. Pressure, unbearable pressure forcing him to relax his head so it hit the hard, cold and wet ground.

He could see the stair.

The footsteps stopped. Close. Very close. Stair upon stair, rising into the clouds. The touch of something... rounded. Pleasant. Cold. It rested on the soft skin of his cheek, then his eyelid. He wanted to raise his hand and brush it away. The touch became a pain. He wanted to fight but his body wouldn't respond. Pressure building, words strangled by the hand clamped across his mouth, the same hand stifling the screams exploding somewhere inside his head, his body as still as silence itself.

A metal implement entered the corner of his eye, turning inwards, puncturing skin and tendon. He gasped as it went in deep, then deeper, the joy of light taken as it severed the optical nerve and retinal blood vessels. He choked on his screams as the rounded implement following the concave curvature of his socket, twisting to one side, ripping through remaining tissue before being levered outwards. Something hit the earth with a faint sound that was felt more than heard. But that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst was he still had one, good eye left.

***

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