 Their eyes frowned upon her as she glanced at them from the translucent box. Life lines and oiled skin from the nakedness of her palms embossed glass walls. Her warm breath moisturized the inside of it like a bathhouse as she stayed, cradled by her own arms, peering at the onlookers who scowled and giggled at her from the streets.
“What a monster.” A lady with dark red hair and polished burgundy lips clutched her cream, leather purse and shuffled away in a flurry. “Please, I’m not a monster!” The girl cried out, but no one flinched, peeked nor reacted. Hundreds of bodies zipped past her box like little rats in the street. Men pulled their pants down, cracking their zippers to match their diabolical smiles as their cheeks rushed with rouge. Their tongues were tainted with the sin of serpents and leaked saliva that fell like melted acrylic. Embryo painted the outside of the girl’s glass cage like a cast away canvas that begged to be burned. The girl, fully clothed and covered, fastened her arms tighter around her knees with the horsepower of a newborn, vampiric spawn. “Whore!” A coffee barricaded by a paper cup splattered all over the girl’s translucent box as it fell onto the sooted cement. A lady in a pink, pastel penciled skirt switched her hips off into the distance with a smirk on her face. The girl’s box began to fill with tears; one inches, now two. People started to crowd around the girl, laughing, mocking, rubbing themselves at the crotch and some even banged on the glass in mockery. Their eyes absorbed her, yet their mouths rejected her all in a moment. Her cries were swallowed by the enclosed cube, crystalizing at the tear duct and rationalized by magic and worry. People yelled out in the crowd, ladies smeared their lips with red maquillage, men swung naked in the afternoon sun like it was a common thing. Both sexes yelled obscenities and spat on the other side of the glass, broken spittle like gnats on a car windshield. The girl dug into the back of her hand, splitting her skin like a pick axe through gray onyx. Baby dribbles of some of the purest blood you’ve ever seen seeping through the peach fuzz on the back of her hand and down her wrist. Her oiled palms now slicked with merlot red, like the ladies lips in the street. The girl brushed her lips with the juice of her life and smeared it on her mouth; cherry beak and heartache touches. Blood dripped inside the puddle of her tears at the bottom of the box, diluting magic and rationalization; four inches high now. Her toes started to look like sweaty dried raisins that had been laying on the sidewalk underneath of a Mississippi sun. Men and women banged at her on the glass like a caged animal. The girl flung her fists, blood flinging and flying like a thunderstorm made for bloodsuckers. She tore down her pants, then her button down blouse and exposed her breasts while creating the most merciless splashes a nightmare has ever seen. Her fists balled and bred white knuckles. She banged on the glass like an wild ape begging for violence. Sinister and sound proof living inside of a glass casket. Horrors and howls wasted under a blistering sun. Her inches of tears suddenly spilled out of the box like the yolk of an egg that had been pierced with a fork. A side door casually opened by the hand of a man she had never seen. “Sir, please shut it!” She panicked, “They’ll hurt me!” The girl backed into the corner of the small, glass cube; hands shaking like an autumn leaf falling from a tree. “Come out of the box.” He stood calm, collected and almost stoic with his hand on the door, staring at her closely. Slowly, the girl put a foot in front of the other, “H-how did you open it?” “Like this.” He twisted the knob, shut the door and opened it again. He cracked a smile as easy as you could crack a can of coke. “But…I didn’t know it was there.” She twiddled her index fingers and looked around at the people still watching her intently. “Well, what were you focused on?” The man smiled gently, warm, soft. "Huh?" "What. Were...You focused on?" He remained calm and polite. The girl stepped out of the box. Watered down roses fell from her lips like the death of womanhood under a sky birthed by God and the Devil, together. Her gold plated chest held breasts that lightly flickered with twinkle and terror encrusted desires. Blood still dripped from her wrist to the her elbow, her pruned feet turning to little diamond toes made of sugar and honey. As she made her way out of the box, the men and the women stopped and stared. Some looked away out of shame, others walked off out of pure boredom. “Am I…Am I like them now?” The girl looked up at the man with the broken eyes and the straw beard, her lips still slicked with her own blood. “You will never be them and they will never be you. Fear is what we see, or don’t see, in ourselves and condemn the next for being the captor of it. See how their anger turns to boredom? Their jealousies turn to fear and their lust turns to shame? And your reactions fed them all like barbarians out for blood.” The man stroked the girl’s hair softly, kind and loving like a gentle Father. “But t-the door. Why didn’t anyone open it?” The girl looked up at the man, bloodlust lips on an innocent face. “My dear girl, they never wanted you to see that door. Because that is the biggest power of all.”
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