“Magnum Opus” by sereneFalconer

Prompt used was “Glass”

Word Count- 2140

Light trigger warning for blood

I have some authors notes at the very end, but here at the beginning I just wanted to say thanks for reading :)

Clack

Clack

Clack

I hear a pair of footsteps approaching from the long hall. A masculine figure stops in my peripheral vision, his presence giving me an uneasy feeling in my gut that I cannot explain.

“Such a beautiful window, don’t you think?” His deep voice bounces off the walls of the long corridor. 

My eyes don’t leave the window, The sunlight of every color projecting part of the larger image on my face. 

“I’m glad you appreciate it. It took a very long time to put together.” I respond, trying not to express too much pride. 

“You made this? I’m quite impressed. Surely it must have taken a while, given its large size.” 

“Yes, actually. Nearly a decade. For a while there, I never thought I would finish. A dear friend of mine inspired aspects of the final design that I feel really pulls it all together.” My gaze flutters across the stained glass. It floats from a starry night sky, to a telescope planted firmly on a grassy hill, to the pair of shoes and piles of books, and finally to the woman they sat beside. She holds a flower in one of the hands she is leaning back on. 

“Your friend has quite the eye for beauty it seems,” My head slowly gives signs of agreement, “give my compliments to them as well then.”

“If I could, I most certainly would.” Sadness washes over me, and my chin seems to drop in response.

I can feel the man’s sharp gaze hit me like a truck,

“Ah, I see…” A moment of silence sits between us, “Well, I suppose I have an eye for beauty as well. This wonderful window caught my eye, after all.” 

I perk up a bit. It was a… strange way of paying a compliment but it was a compliment nonetheless… right?

The silence continues to build a pressure in the air the longer it goes on. It becomes almost unbearable after a minute or so, a layer of sweat begins to build on my skin.

“You know, the story of this piece is something I’m quite proud of,” my words escape, trying to alleviate this stress, “She finally feels free, able to see what she’s longed to see. She’s able to sit in darkness, only to be guided by starlight if she so chooses. She’s ready to chart her own path, and take the time to enjoy the little things along the way. She’s on a journey that she thought she could never make. It feels quite idealistic, but somehow it makes me hopeful I can do the same someday.”

The man seems to make a quiet sound of agreement, an expressed interest.

My words stutter back to life after the pause and response, “The colors were hand picked. I opted for cooler tones, the blues and greens especially. Of course, to draw the eye, brighter colors were used sparingly across the piece. Every pane of glass was selected to intentionally have a slight difference in color to the pane next to it. That is partially why it took so long. I searched high and low for just the right piece in every place.”

I waited patiently for another indication that my words were heard. I fidget with my fingers for a moment or so, tracing circles on one hand with the thumb of the other.

Perhaps he is being polite? Or perhaps he is invested in the origins of my Magnum Opus?

“…In fact, sometimes it even came down to the sand that the glass once was. How the glass was cut, the perfect shape for every little piece. Sometimes the perfect shape was found by accident, but once I found whatever that shape was, whatever color, or whatever technique I used, every piece was deliberate.”

“But does that matter as much as the final result?” I feel something like a shock in my heart. The kind when you touch a doorknob with your hand, not expecting that split second of electric intensity. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t believe I understand what you mean…” 

“Well, its purpose is to be beautiful, and I believe that has been achieved. Really, does anything else about the piece matter?”

“Well, I would think so. Yes, it is beautiful, but there are so many little complexities to it. The journey to its completion, the story it tells, every little piece builds up that beauty.” 

“But does any of that even matter if I don’t think it is beautiful? Would anyone consider any of that if it was ugly?” The audacity of his words, the sheer confidence in every syllable… is he playing devil's advocate? Surely he does not believe this absurdity… Surely…

The sun began to sink over the horizon, the colorful light shining through the window beginning to build in intensity before it died down for the evening. 

“There is so much more than the piece’s visual beauty. What about all of the things that give it character? All the little imperfections? The asymmetrical shapes? The overall message? Those all contribute to the beauty of it.”

“The purpose of the window is to be beautiful. It is to be looked at in all its glory. I am quite surprised you do not understand this, considering you are the one who made this piece.” Do people actually think like this? He must be trying to provoke some kind of serious thought out of me, right?

“But-“

“You are quite lucky that I am capable of seeing and recognizing such beautiful work. I could have turned a blind eye, then where would you be but here, observing your work all by yourself? How would you know that it truly is beautiful?”

“But I-“

“A window like this is meant to be viewed and used in the realm of the physical. The window does not have a message to speak, nor the capacity to. Even if it did, who wants to listen to the deafening sounds of scratching glass? Why give it much more thought outside of that itch in your brain that gets scratched when you see something so aesthetically pleasing?”

“I mean-“

“Perhaps it was by sheer luck that you managed to make this seem so visually appealing. You clearly do not understand what windows like this are made for. You have made it much too complex in your mind. I don’t think the next one you make will be beautiful. Maybe I was even wrong about this one.”

I exhale sharply, but he doesn’t notice. 

Oh no…

I know where this is going, but I don’t think I can stop it… I breathe heavily trying to block out his words. Perhaps I have given this stranger much more credit than he deserves.

He’s been talking for a minute or so, the anger filled exhalation of air from my nose drowning out his voice for a moment. Hopefully he will go away when he’s finished. 

“Maybe if you take my advice, you can guarantee that all your works will be sought after. As of right now, I don’t think it is very likely.” Just my luck that I have to hear those words in between breaths.

“Leave, NOW!” My eyes met him with a snap of my head, my eyebrows furrowed in rage and pain. I point to the other end of the corridor. For the first time I saw his face in full. He seems shocked, his eyes wide. I don’t think, however, that this was a shocked look caused by an epiphany. 

The explosion of emotions was an inevitability, this was what I was afraid of happening.

“How rude of you! How indecent and impolite! I was here simply giving you advice! I helped you! I recognized the beauty! And you feel the need to be so hurtful? I am quite offended.” 

“Get out. I don’t want your recognition.” 

His face softens for a single moment, and then the subtlest of smirks stretches across his mouth. I was so puzzled by that smile, but I understood it not long after. 

“You want me to leave? Fine. But first,” movement down by his hands catches my attention, “let's hear what the glass has to say.”

Wait…

I take a glimpse at what he has in his hands as he winds back his arm.

Wait, has he had that this whole time?

I only see the rock in his right hand for a split second.

“Wait, stop!”

The deafening sound of shattering glass seems to knock me to my knees. Tears are painted across my cheeks as the bottom half of my Magnum Opus crumbles.

“No! NO!”

His left arm winds back. There’s a rock in that hand too. How did I not see them?

I beg and I plead, I scream and cry. 

“If only you had listened to me,” He says.

The top half of my Magnum Opus crumbles, my heart shattering with the impact.

My hands meet my head, a near incomprehensible flurry of pain stricken words flowing out of my mouth. I crawl over the pieces of glass left strewn all over the floor of the corridor. There I sit, directly in front of it, glass puncturing the flesh of my palms. I look straight up to where it once was, the full moon the only thing left in its place. I scream out. I cry. I weep. 

I jerk my head down to the floor.

I can fix it, I can fix it! I have to fix it!

I grasp at the shattered glass, the once white floor painted with strips of crimson. The moments pass much too fast, the seconds blur and blend together. 

I need all the pieces, where are they?!

My bleeding hands pull me up and over the wall my stained glass was once attached to. I once again grasp for shattered glass, feeling through the soft grass and coarse dirt. I am completely illuminated by the moonlight. 

“I wonder what your dear friend would think of this? How ashamed he would be.”

Clack

Clack

Clack

I scream out. I cry. I weep. No one is around to hear it, or perhaps everyone is. I don’t know anymore.

How could I let this happen?

How will anyone bear the shame I have brought? 

Is this my fault?

It’s my fault. It’s my fault. 

I did this. 

My body collapses into the glass and dirt. My sobbing is deafening to my sensitive ears. I grasp at my hair with my crimson palms. The glorious moon is the only witness to my pain. 

It feels like so many evenings have passed, even without a sunrise. Small creatures crawl over my skin, going about their normal business even with me in the way. Eternity seems to pass. I have every thought cross my mind at the same time, but I feel so silent on the inside. 

I shift, turning to my other side while trying to find some sense of comfort. Something is stuck on my arm. 

My curiosity cannot be contained. I hesitantly get back on my knees, slowly but surely. My eyes met whatever was stuck on my arm. Some of the glass is glued to my forearm by sweat. 

How peculiar…

My finger gently traces over the pieces of glass. 

It almost looks like a mosaic…

It almost looks… beautiful…

The crying seems to stop, I blink them out of my tear filled eyes one flutter of an eyelid at a time. 

It’s like a match was struck inside me, the perfect image in my head.

I can fix it- no…

I can make it better!

I have been living through the very moments that make such pieces truly beautiful. The very moments I had talked about previously. All those little complexities, those little imperfections, the pain and terror that graced my very spirit. All those ups and downs, those are the true beauty. 

I can see the new image forming in my head. Every piece of my shattered window forming a brand new picture, and telling a brand new story. A beautiful mosaic.

My lips curl up as the sky seems to lighten. Sunrise is approaching. Plans form in my head, lists of supplies, proper precautions, and useful techniques coming to mind soon after.

My Magnum Opus wasn’t finished quite yet.

I go to get up, and a sharpness digs into one of my knees as I shift. A painful reminder of the possibilities that come with this new work of art.

Fear. There is so much fear. 

What if…

What if…

What if…

Then you do it again. Every picture will be more beautiful than the last.

I shake myself out of it, I am making this happen. 

Back on my feet, I embrace the warmth of the rising sun. 

Time to pick up the pieces.

Authors Notes:

Hi! I hope yall enjoyed!! Glass was the prompt I immediately gravitated towards, mainly because I felt it was the perfect symbolism. My two original ideas were exploring a stained glass window, or a prince ruperts drop. I decided to go with the stained glass. While there is very specific and deep symbolism linked to the window, I also want other people to be able to put whatever symbols they feel may fit in place for them in this story. It’s up to reader interpretation in that sense, so feel free to take my interpretation with a grain of salt.

Recently I have been learning what it means to be feminine, and unfortunately not just in the positive ways. I felt like a stained glass window was the perfect way to convey the complex concepts of femininity. The events of the story I feel convey what it feels like to put together a person, to build up that feminine image, and unfortunately, what it feels like when that image is underestimated, objectified, rejected, and shattered. I sprinkled little symbolic pieces of actual experiences into it as well.

I am still coming to terms with how the world views me, and I am still putting those broken pieces of glass into place to form a new and more beautiful image than the last. In all honesty, it was incredibly therapeutic writing this story. I hope you all can appreciate it as much as I do. Even if another story completely blows mine out of the water, I’m satisfied with mine. Thank you so much to Jamriot for hosting this event, I didn’t expect to get such healing from it. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope to participate in more wonderful writing events like this one in the future. <3