I heard once that glass was a liquid. A very slow liquid, creeping in millimeters over centuries, but a liquid. Maybe this is true. Maybe it isn’t.
I watch the stained glass waves and I wonder how many thousands of years it might take them to crash to shore. There is a dolphin, swimming in that deep blue sea, all alone, sunlight streaming through its body.
It is going home, I think. Home to its school, to other glass dolphins swimming in an ocean vast and slow, made of all the windows in the world.
Word Count: 95
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Jean L. Hays for providing the photo prompt!
Read the other responses to the prompt here!