Broken Glass - Richard Manginis
The lake is frozen, firm under my feet as I step out onto it. I pause for a second, prepared to hear the familiar groan of ice cracking, a sound I have heard a million times before as a child when my family came here to skate. That was a long time ago. Today I am alone. Cautiously, I make my way to the lake’s center, my winter boots like bulldozers clearing a path for me as I slide through the snow and over the ice. Reaching it, I sit, brushing the lake around me clean with my gloves. The ice beneath is clear, almost glass. I can see every air bubble suspended, every frozen reed preserved. It is beautiful, until I see the cracks. My sister’s drug addiction. My grandparents’ deaths. My niece’s broken home. Helpless, I watch the cracks spread out around me. I cry.