The glass room
No one remembered when the glass rooms first appeared.
They weren’t built. They simply were — one day, on every street corner, in every office, inside every home. Transparent. Seamless. Unlocked. Or so they seemed.
Elias lived in one.
It was a nice glass room, all things considered. Climate controlled. With screens on every wall that offered productivity tips, inspirational quotes, and reminders to “Breathe. Smile. You Are Free.” He had a desk, a treadmill, and a mirror that complimented him every morning.
The door had no handle, but no one really talked about that.
Elias worked eight to twelve hours a day. Sometimes more, if he was lucky enough to get noticed. He posted motivational content, tracked his sleep cycle, counted steps, and occasionally cried during meetings — though never loud enough for the algorithm to flag him.
From time to time, he’d press his palm to the glass and watch people outside.
They looked just like him. Each in their own invisible room, walking with purpose, eyes fixed on glowing rectangles. Some smiled. Most didn’t. But all of them were "free."
His neighbor, Mara, once tried to break hers. She screamed, kicked, even stopped checking her emails. For two whole days, the glass glowed red. Then one morning, her room flickered off. Mara smiled again. She got promoted.
Elias wondered, sometimes, if there was a world beyond the glass. He wondered what it felt like to walk barefoot on grass, to speak without censor, to choose.
One night, the screens went dark. No beeps. No slogans. Just silence.
And for the first time in years, Elias heard his own breath. Loud. Unfiltered.
He stood up. Pressed both hands against the glass.
It was cold. Thin. Almost trembling.
He whispered, “Am I free?”
The walls answered nothing.
And yet, in that silence, he saw the crack.
