He crouched on the hill a behemoth. Mud hugged his boots though it hadn’t rained in weeks, and an empty smile anchored his face. With the sun behind him, he was a dark mass on the horizon. An empty, breathing universe.
The glass in his hand caught the light for a moment, creating a star in the abyssal black of his body. Then, he descended on us.
The angry thing. The sullen deity. His attack was fire distilled through glass, burning bright holes in my friends and family, wishing us into oblivion, until his mother called him home for dinner.
Author bio: Scott Beggs writes about movies and culture for Nerdist, Slashfilm, and other fine sites, and his short stories have previously appeared in Mulholland Books' Popcorn Fiction. He lives in California with his wife and two dogs named after enigmatic Tom Robbins characters, and he wants to be Buster Keaton's best friend. Follow him on twitter @scottmbeggs and visit http://www.scottbeggs.com for more.
Glass is part of 101 Fiction issue 17.
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