🔔 CASE FILE: INCIDENT AT THE GLASS
Classification: [REDACTED]
Clearance Level: EYES ONLY
Filed Under: COUNTER-SURVEILLANCE/DISSENT
I. Initial Statement
Imagine that—
I’m the one throwing pebbles at the glass,
and you’re inside,
a metaphorical double-wide
where even my name [REDACTED] past the lock,
and you’re pretending not to hear me.
II. Witness Report
Each pebble = one small rebellion.
A spit in the eye of silence.
You remained inside.
Curtains drawn.
Air stale with [REDACTED] forgetting—
Even my name slid down the jamb like rainwater,
dissolving before it reached your ears.
The silence began to sweat.
Every strike ricocheted,
fracturing my reflection—
and still I threw,
because somewhere behind the glass
was the part of you that still flinched when something broke.
III. Incident Reconstruction
Timestamp: [DATA CORRUPTED]
It was no longer a pebble.
It was a stone with history.
River-worn. Weighted. Pre-selected.
The glass saw it coming.
It knew my name.
It had been waiting.
Impact: [CLASSIFIED]
Result: shatter → silver veins → petals of winter falling.
You froze inside.
The silence thickened.
Wind rushed in like it had been rehearsing freedom.
IV. Official Transcript
Excerpt — Public Record
Counsel: Did you throw a rock?
Subject: A rock? No.
A truth? Yes.
A memory with sharp edges? Absolutely.
Counsel: Witnesses heard a shatter.
Subject: Windows break for many reasons—
age, neglect, the slow bowing of a frame under pressure.
Sometimes the world decides it’s had enough of being see-through.
Counsel: And the stone?
Subject: What stone?
I only carry words.
The kind that disappear when you try to hold them,
but still cut when you step on them barefoot.
[END TRANSCRIPT — HEAVILY REDACTED]
V. Sealed Deposition
Not for Release
Unauthorized Access = Federal Offense
You want the truth?
I didn’t aim for the glass.
I aimed for the way you hid behind it.
I picked the stone like you pick a wound.
Slow. Deliberate.
It belonged in my hand.
When it left—time broke first.
Then the glass followed.
You flinched.
Not from the sound.
From the air touching you for the first time in years.
Board it up. Replace it. Paint over the scar.
But you’ll never get the sound out of your bones.
And if you think I wouldn’t do it again,
you’ve mistaken mercy for weakness.
[NOTE: SUBJECT POSSESSES MORE STONES.]
🕯 Filed Under: Resistance Materials / Surveillance Artifacts
🕯 End of Document — Fragment 001-A
