Glass Box

As usual, I woke up in the middle of the busy square.

The last, lingering moments of sleep made pulling my head up off the pillow difficult, but it wasn’t too long before I was able to see the shoppers dashing back and forth. The business suit marching out of the café with a coffee in their hand, the parent dragging their child around a shoe shop, the teenage busker putting their limited guitar knowledge to good use. It was the same scene I saw every other day, but it was never not interesting to me.

Of course, I couldn’t actually hear anything. The important business conversation, the screaming child, and those first few chords of Sweet Child O’ Mine never made it through the inch-thick glass walls of my bedroom. I’d been here long enough to be almost used to it, but at first it gave the world a strange alien quality. Everything was so close, I could see them and I presume they could see me, but it all still felt a million miles away.

I crawled out of bed as the Post Office staff dashed out for their daily cigarette break. None of them paid much attention to me as I threw my clothes on, and none of them noticed when I had to swivel my shirt around to make sure it was facing the right way. They were too busy talking about whatever it is Post Office staff talk about. Probably stamps, but there was no way to be sure.

I sat and watched the bakery on the other side of the square as I ate my breakfast. Just corn flakes, nothing special. I watched as the parent from earlier tried to wipe the powdery leftovers of a donut off their child’s brand new school jumper. An old couple was debating rather animatedly over which bread they should buy, holding up the queue of kids waiting to get any and all sorts of cake in their mouths. It made my corn flakes seem pretty dull in comparison.

Body clothes and breakfast eaten, I was starting to feel the heat of the sun as it poured into my glass. My room got hotter and hotter as the square got busier and busier. A whole horde of business suits burst forth from their offices for meetings over lunch, the teenagers piled out of the college to make their daily pilgrimage to the fast food places, all of them flowing haphazardly around my cube. I recognised some of them from the countless days before, but what they were talking about was beyond me. Some passers-by looked in at me, but more out of brief curiosity than anything else. Just something to look at while getting on with their lives, I suppose.

Only a few hours later, the chaotic square had become a ghost town. The morning shop was over, and everyone was back to the grindstone. The sun wasn’t shining directly into my room anymore, so it was cooling down quite nicely. I watched as a pigeon got lucky and found an only half-empty crisp packet left over from the lunchtime rush.

The evening was when it started raining. The summer sun was tucked behind the buildings now, and the barriers signified the end of the day for the shops. The pubs and restaurants, on the other hand, took on lives of their own. The usually dark pub by the bakery was lit up, a warm glow seeping out through the window, hoping to catch and pull in the punters. I felt a few small drops on my head as a group of lads tried to squeeze themselves through the pub’s door, obviously having started their evening a bit earlier than most.

It wasn’t long before the water was at my waist. People were still outside enjoying the warm evening. At least we all had one thing in common: our beds were a bit out of reach at the moment. Theirs’ were at home when there was partying to be done, mine was three feet underwater on the other side of the room. People were still coming and going — some stumbling across to the fast food place to line their stomachs, some having to prop themselves up against my box while they called to check on late friends.

The water was at my neck now. The sun had gone hours ago, so only the streetlights and the club lit up the square and the ripples from me trying to keep my face pressed against the ceiling where the air was. The constant drip, drip, drip noise was the only thing I could hear while the parties outside were in full swing. There had been a few fights that police with crisp uniforms and shiny badges had sorted those out pretty quickly. A few people had annoyingly relieved themselves on the wall of my tank, but there were others still having a good time. Young couples enjoying each other’s company, groups of friends dancing away, the night still very much busy and full of life.

Kicking out time was nothing but a blur through the water of my tank. My stomach was tight and my chest ready to burst as I watched the night briefly turn just as busy as it was earlier. The headlights of a convoy of taxis shined through, ready to take the lads home. Glittering dresses and mobile phone screens bobbed up and down, refracted through the water.

The square was slowing down for the night. I could make out the vague shapes of people walking past on their journeys home, and a few sleeping off the booze, tucked up against the wall of my cube for shelter, but other than that everything was still.

My chest was burning with the water that had entered my lungs as I watched the last few bubbles rise to the top. Through the water and the warm night air, I could see the final bus of the day heading towards its last destination. Then it all went black. And cold. And as quiet as it always was.

As usual, I woke up in the middle of the busy square. The last, lingering moments of sleep made pulling my head up off the pillow difficult, but it wasn’t too long before I was able to see the shoppers dashing back and forth.