The Long Tale No. 14 - Broken Glass

The glass lay on the cold ground, cracks spider-webbing over its once clear surface. The handle rested a few feet away, where it had splintered into a rough knife. Wine spilled over the cobblestone floor and settled in the cracks and crevices, like veins of blood. The man stared down at the chaos before turning to the pain in his hand. A wave of emotion flowed through the room, of anguish and hate at an untold demise, drowning all happiness and hope and joining the sea of crimson. Another glass was filled and downed before being thrown away like before.