The Wistful Mountain
The glass broke first. I heard it before I saw it. A sharp crack in the air. Like a bone snapping. Then the shatter. The vase was blue. Cobalt. It sat on the table in the center of the room. My hands were shaking. I dropped it. Or maybe I threw it. I don't remember. I only remember the sound. The pieces scattered across the floor. Blue shards. Sharp. Beautiful. I was a cop then. Or I thought I...
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