art by Shannon N. Kelly
In Her Arms of Dresden Pale
by Damien Walters Grintalis
She was broken when he met her, shattered into a thousand tiny shapes, all with jagged edges. He gathered up her pieces and carried them home.
He spread them out on his dining room table, an eye here, a fingertip there, and smiled. The damage was not irreparable.
A glassblower by trade, he worked in his shop during the day, creating fragile sculptures in vibrant shades. Even in these difficult financial times, people still craved beauty. He returned to his apartment each night and bent over the table, sorting out the fragments. After several months, he was ready to begin the painstaking process of putting her back together.
A drop of glue, a melding of shape to shape, a wipe of a soft cloth. Repeat. His back ached and his need for coffee during the day increased, but he didn't mind.
He fashioned a heart from crimson glass, breathing hope and warmth into the red; before he glued her last piece into place, he put the heart inside. When finished, he took a step back, his hands shaking.