Writing fragment: "The Glass Story"

Sometimes I write something and I get all enthusiastic about it and I then tell a few other people I've had a great idea. Then though, in a slack moment, I start to wonder quite where it'll go. That leaves me wandering 'off topic' and it becomes a little file clogging up my hard drive with a hopelessly uncertain future. This is such a file, a Ronin of my writing attempts..........


He came to, groggy and a little to the left of himself. It felt odd for a moment until he settled back into where he was. A curious feeling indeed.

As he reached for the drink in front of him he realised that everything was almost imperceptibly vibrating.

No. Wait. Not everything was.

Only things made of glass. Tiny, ridiculously subtle pulses moving through them. Almost invisible to the naked eye but causing a very unnatural feeling when touched.

He realised it was stranger still. The pint glass, half filled in his hand, was quivering in this odd way but the content wasn't. Not a ripple or bubble. No sign of anything out of order even though the glass container was all but dancing in his hand.

He put the glass down and watched it. No sign of it running across the table, no noise of rattling against the marble surface. He reached a finger out to check he wasn't losing his grip on things again. The recoil of his fingertip as it found the surface told him all he needed to know.

He stood, shakily, shifting his weight quickly to avoid toppling straight back down again. It was always a few minutes before the effects wore off. It was the one side of it he always regretted.