Broken Stained Glass by Yuliia Krasii

I threw a rock with all the strength

I had and heard the sound of breaking glass. As small pieces of coloured glass – red, green, blue – were falling to the ground, alarm systems in the church went off. What a beautiful night it was.

I didn’t have any energy to run away or hide, I didn’t even want to. I simply waited, listening to the alarm’s piercing sound. 

I looked up. The once beautiful stained-glass of the church's window now had a big hole right in the middle of it. A big smirk appeared on my face. I looked at the broken window and finally, after a long while, felt good. 

“What do you think you’re doing?!” a middle-aged woman with deep blue circles under her eyes approached me. 

“What do you think I am doing?” I took the cigarette out of my pocket, lit it, and exhaled right into the woman's face. 

She coughed for a while and I saw her eyes shining with tears. 

“You…” she looked at me clenching her fists, “just wait until the police get you!”

And with those words, our sweet small talk was cut with another alarm sound, this time coming from a police car. 

 “That’s him, arrest him!” shouted the woman, pointing her finger at me when the policemen got out of the car.

I threw my cigarette on the ground, stepped on it, and then looked at the policemen. I slowly raised my arms. 

“Go on, gentlemen,” I smirked softly, “it is your time to shine." 

Shortly afterwards, I got cuffed and put into a dark, chilly cell.  

The long booking and questioning process made me sleepy, so I laid on a cold metal bed, feeling how it pressed into my body. 

Distant sounds of the cars were the only distracting thing from the silence. Then I heard someone talking. 

“He is accused of murder, Mrs. Thompson,” I got up and moved closer to the metal bars of the cell trying to overhear a conversation, “breaking church’s glass is the least your grandson did.” 

My heart sank to my stomach. It was her, the only person I wanted to see. The only person I feared to see. 

She came in with the police officer. 

“Oh Dylan”, her voice broke down as she covered her mouth with her arms. I saw tears coming to her eyes and gently falling to her cheeks. My knees got weak, and my hands were trembling from overwhelming nervousness, “what did you do?...” 

“I killed him, granny,” I felt feverish saying that, but I continued, “he was the one who made mom die. That pastor, that bustard, he can no longer harm anyone.” 

She let out a loud cry, looking right at me. 

“I know it was the right thing to kill him, granny. I wanted to run away and hide, but I couldn't. I did terrible things to him and his body,” I felt a warm feeling growing in my chest, the one you get remembering a ride on a rollercoaster as fear and horror are pushed out by excitement. 

Granny wanted to say something, but I continued to talk. 

“After killing him, I was satisfied, but something felt off. So I got back today and finished the deed. We’re okay now, granny.”

She didn’t say a word, just stared at me and silently cried.