This is my entry for the Writer's Jam 2024

Prompt: Glass and Showdown

Word count: 3163

A Bunch of Glass Holes

      On the inhospitable planet of Plot is where our story begins, a world abundant in volcanic eruptions, lava rivers, and high humidity, if the weather forecast is to be believed. Along one of the many steep cliffs overlooking this smokin’ hot terrain is a large, out of place building. What lurks beyond its “push to open” doors?

           “Welcome, one and all, to the Annual Glass Crafter Competition!” says the announcer. Both contestants and visitors groaned in unison to this, having heard this bombastic announcement every time the doors opened, like the ding of a supermarket doorbell. Talented glass makers from all around gathered to unveil their transparent creations and none were quite as skilled as Brock Blow, a stout man with impeccable hair who truly needs no introduction, so I suppose I just wasted your time.  His glass sculptures seem to push the boundaries of glassmaking, as his works take on an almost supernatural element to them. Brock beamed with confidence, just as his motivational tapes instructed him to, as he looked over the convention hall, inspecting the other competitors’ craftsmanship; there were gorgeous glass vases, stained glass windows, glass figurines, glass furniture, glass bowls, glass fruit inside of glass bowls, as well as life sized statues and other assorted objects. The visitors marveled at the pristine crystal, as it dazzled under the subpar convention center lighting. He thought to himself “Impressive craftsmanship as always, yet none of it holds a glass candlestick to my art.”

           That’s when he finally noticed his rival, who’s table was literally right across from him. Albert Windbag, an old wealthy man yet a newcomer to the field of glassblowing, determined to make his mark by defeating the famed blower Brock in a fair, friendly contest of skill with no underhanded methods whatsoever. Assisting him was a beautiful woman he called Lillie, who Brock couldn’t help, but wonder if she was an elderly care worker. Albert had been patiently waiting for Brock to notice him. “Well, Brock. You finally snapped out of your daze,” quipped Albert. “It amazes me how a man, praised for his eye for detail, could be such an airhead.”

           “Oh yeah, well you’re stupid,” replied Brock with his usual elegant and quick-witted nature.

           Albert scoffed at his remark. “Such brutish language. Best be careful. I wouldn’t want the shock of your loss today to shatter you.”

           “Really?” asked Brock indignantly. He took a quick glance at Albert’s table and saw nothing. He then put his contacts in and took another look, only to find the table had nothing on it, let alone any glass. “Do you plan on entering glass blown atoms into the contest or is your entry invisible? Your table’s empty.”

           “Not to worry. It will be revealed when the judging begins,” Albert answers calmly. “Besides, you have a comically large sheet covering yours. So obviously, you’re waiting to reveal yours as well.”

           “Well then, I look forward to having a good laugh when I see your entry,” Brock replied, walking back to his display to confidently pose in front of it, another snip bit he learned from those motivational tapes.

It wasn’t long before the judging began. They eventually meandered their way through the glassy entries over to the main course that was Brock and Alert’s displays. Brock wasted no time in addressing the onlookers, “Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you my latest masterpiece!” With both hands firmly gripping the sheet, he yanked it to the side with vigor. It was obvious from the start that his creation was very large, yet none could have imagined what it hid. The glass was superbly crafted, free of impurities, cracks, or blemishes. The corners were sharp, and the round parts were as smooth as a calm body of water. This was to be expected from him of course. After all, when Brock Blow blows glass, he blows well. The towering structure had various twists and turns that distorted the crowd, as well as detailed shapes like flowers and leaves. No one could quite make out what it was, though it invoked a sense of nature and urban society entwined in a delicate moment not meant for children. The longer one looked at it, the taller it seemed to become. Despite the uncertainty, one thing was for certain; it was moving. Audience members rubbed their eyes and conferred with those standing near, believing they must be seeing things. The structure swayed and pulsated as if it was breathing, as if it might do something unexpected at any moment or even disappear. The audience was spellbound. It took one brave person to begin clapping to bring everyone else out of their shared trance. The room was soon filled with roaring clapper, cheers, and thrown bouquets of roses and underwear.

“Would you look at that, folks! I have… no idea what it is, but it’s incredible! Brock Blow may once again blow the competition away!” said the announcer.

After the crowd settled down, they soon turned their attention to Albert. His empty table left them perplexed. The crowd began to whisper among themselves, wondering if he forgot his entry or if the table was made of glass or where the bathroom was. Albert motioned to Lillie, who reached under the table and brought out a glass bowl. Brock burst out laughing. “Really, Albert. This is your creation? Or what? You couldn't be bothered to buy something better?”

A few of the other audience members began laughing at Brock’s comment until Albert shouted, “Silence! All of you!” The audience obeyed. “The bowl is not my creation,” said Albert indignantly. Lillie set the bowl down and Albert pulled out a rag from his pocket. He then vigorously scrubbed Lillie’s arm and positioned it to face the audience and shouted “Behold!”

           The crowd crept forward in bewilderment. Why were they expected to look at a woman’s arm? Although the arm fetishists were all too eager. Upon closer inspection of the spot he scrubbed, there was glass. Beautiful, smooth glass. Even more amazing, they saw more detail below the surface of her arm; you could see transparent veins, arteries, and bone. Her arm was made of glass and yet she could twist and move it like a real arm. The crowd was stunned and murmured among themselves, wondering it was a trick of some kind or if they could have her number. All excellent questions.

           “Everyone,” Albert addressed in a calm, elegant manner, “Let me clarify. It may be hard to believe, but this woman is entirely made of glass. Using this rag, I removed a bit of makeup that was covering her. Let me demonstrate again.” Albert then used the rag on the woman’s ear, and it too turned transparent. “You were enamored by Brock’s creation; glass that appears to imitate life. Now, what do you think of a work of art that is glass come life!” The crowd went into an uproar of cheers, chest bumps, and tearful hugs. One guy even dumped a container of Gatorade on Albert.

           “This is unbelievable, folks. It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. A sentient woman made of glass. This will revolutionize the dating market as well as the world. We may very well be seeing the start of a new legacy for Albert Windbag!”

Albert then put a small sign in front of the glass bowl from earlier that read "Talk to glass woman: $20. Touch glass arm: $200". People lined up with the arm fetish people being out front. The judges, generously not charged, thoroughly examined and spoke with her. She acted just like a real person. Brock never expected this. How could he? How could someone breathe life into glass?

           Afterwards, the judges conferred with one another. They weren’t sure how to handle the glass woman situation. There were too many questions. Namely, how did Albert make her? Did he make her? Does it violate some rule? Does she go to the bathroom? The discussion raged on. However, before the halftime show with the high C opera singer could begin, a group of men burst into the building. They were dressed in Hawaiian shirts and cargo pants.

           “Welcome, one and all, to the…” said the contest announcer before getting kicked in the nuts by one of the men. The man out in front loudly yelled, “Brock Blow!”

           Brock, who, at the time was curled up in a ball, sucking his thumb, and listening to his motivation tapes, quickly jumped to his feet. Brock recognized him immediately from his ugly Hawaiian shirt. His nemesis, Neil Breaker (cue dramatic music). And he’d brought his band of reasonably happy men along. Neil isn’t an ordinary man, though he used to be. Years ago, his lover made a wish to a powerful being, a wish for immortality. However, a price had to be paid to maintain balance and Neil was cursed with the ability to break through anything he hits like it was made of glass. While this may sound more like a blessing than a curse, the truth is this led to Neil damaging numerous precious items and killing countless people, as a slightest impact could cause irreversible damage them. Now, Neil searches for the being who cursed him in the hope that killing it will undo the curse.

           “Well, Brock. Long time no see,” Neil said impassionately, his scowl never changing. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought back up this time. I can’t have you slithering away again.” Since Neil was unaware of the being’s location, he did what any senseless person would do and traveled around, bashing the heads in of anyone who seemed powerful. Brock’s otherworldly glassblowing skills fit the bill in both supernatural power and theme.

           Brock was painfully aware of his situation. He was facing an opponent with a superpower, outnumbered by hench people, the crowds would inhibit any attempt of escaping, and he’d already ordered a pizza that hadn’t showed up yet so he couldn’t leave. So Brock did what he did third best; improvised. “Came here to make trouble for me, huh? You know, there’s a lot of fragile glass objects around. You start a fight here, you’ll probably break ‘em all.”

           Neil strolled forward toward Brock, his eyes locked on his target, muttering under his breathe, “Like I care.” His men began fanning out to cut off Brock’s escape routes.

           “Hear that, guys!” Brock shouted. “He and his men are going to destroy your art! Maybe even worse! You just going to stand around and let that happen?!”

           His words ignited a fever in the contestants. They wanted to fight back, but they didn't have any weapons to fight them. It was then that they turned their attention to Mr. Surname’s entry, an entire rack of glass weaponry, complete with swords, shields, spears, throwing stars, and what not. Mr. Surname, a man who needs no introduction because he’s not important to the plot, pleaded with the contestants to stop as they swarmed his display, grabbing his weapons and charging off to fight. One guy meekly approached to ask, “Do you have the energy sword from the Halo series? What about a Klingon bat'leth by chance?”

           In mere moments, the convention hall turned into a war zone, with contestants swinging their easily breakable yet heavy and sharp weapons at the thugs, who only had wooden bats and knives. Visitors panicked and either ran toward the exits, shoving and trampling one another in the process or hid in the various bathrooms, food stalls, and garbage cans scattered throughout the building. A few decided to stand around aimlessly and record it on their phones as usual. The carnage that ensued did not break Neil’s focus, as he closed the distance between him and Brock. He removed a set of brass knuckles from his pocket and slipped them on. All the while, Brock returned Neil’s gaze with a grin on his face, his arms crossed, his posture beaming with confidence thanks to those tapes. A contestant charged at him with his glass sword. Neil responded by dodging and punching him in the head; there was an audible crunch. The contestant’s head cracked and caved inward like the smashed windshield on an inconsiderate company executive’s car. Neil stopped about 10 feet short of him.

           “Tell me how to break the curse,” said Neil with his usual sinister tone.

           “I told you already,” retorted Brock agitatedly. “I don’t know anything about your curse.”

           “Fine. I’ll just kill you for good measure.”

           “Hold on there,” said Brock, signaling for Neil to wait. “This isn’t the first time you’ve come after me. Did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for our next fated meeting?” In an instant, he jumped into his sculpture. The glass closed around him like drawn curtains. The components shifted and turned, rearranging the entire exhibit. The long slender pieces extended and revealed themselves as blades. Within moments, Brock’s grand creation resembled a mech suit. The mech stepped off the table while the soundtrack to Transformers played in the background.

           “Thanks to your explanation during our first meet and greet,” yelled Brock, his voiced completely muted by the thick glass walls of his mech, “I know anything you hit shatters like glass, but how does your power hold up against actual thick glass?!”

           Neil was put on the defensive, backing up and dodging Brock’s glass blade swipes. However, this didn’t last for long. He leaped forward and landed a solid blow on its center, cracking it, pushing the mech back and knocking it off balance. He then proceeded to go to town on it, every hitting creating more and more cracks as the appendages fell away, leaving just the main body. Neil knocked it over and removed the glass protecting Brock. Turns out a giant glass mech suit is a bit of a glass cannon. Neil was about to crack Brock’s skull open when Brock screamed, “Wait! I know someone! The person you’re looking for!”

           Neil lowered his fist, “Yeah? Who?”

           “I made this suit. But him! That guy!” Brock looked over and motioned to Albert, who was conveniently hiding under his display table still for some reason. “He made a living, breathing woman out of glass. It’s gotta be him!”

           “Thanks,” said Neil, before unceremoniously shattering Brock’s head like a plate at a Jewish wedding. He wasted no time making his way over to Albert’s table, flipping it out of the way. Right now, it seemed like the only control Albert had over the situation was his bladder and that control was minimal.

           “Neil, stop!” Looking over, Neil saw Lillie. She walked cautiously towards him.

           “How?” asked Neil, confused. “How do you know my name?”

           “Don’t do this,” said Lillie, shivering. She was barely able to make eye contact. “Please, just stop.”

           Now that she was closer, he could see her crying. More importantly, the tears had begun washing away the makeup on her cheeks. The glassy flesh on her face was now on display.

           “You’re the glass woman he made.” Neil paused. He grabbed the top of her dress with both hands and pulled her in. “Tell me what I want to know or you’re both dead!” Neil stared her dead in the eyes, waiting for her answer. And it was in those moments that he saw something familiar. Something he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Elizabeth,” he said in a half whisper, his own eyes having grown soft in that brief moment. He let go of her and backed up. She grabbed the rag from the table and scrubbed her face, revealing her flawless glass complexion.

           “I’m so happy to see you again, Neil,” said Elizabeth with a smile. "I've missed you."

           “What… What happened to you… No. Wait,” said Neil, collecting himself. “You betrayed me.”

           “I didn’t! I swear!”

           “He told me you asked for immortality and offered up me as collateral!” yelled Neil, taking a menacing step forward.

           “I asked for immortality, yes, but they didn’t tell me there would be consequences! I swear it! You always said I was the most beautiful woman in the world,” Lillie said, continuing to cry. “I wanted to stay beautiful for you.”

           Neil paused for a moment. Going over the details of it all in his head. So many years. “Then where have you been all this time? You disappeared after I got cursed. I needed you then more than ever.” His voice grew louder as he spoke. “Why didn’t you try and find me?” Elizabeth tried to speak, but Neil cut her off. “It’s not like I’m a hard man to find after all. I’m infamous. And when I first came in here, why didn’t you scream my name and run to me?!”

           Elizabeth was visibly nervous. She tried to respond but kept stopping herself, unable to find the right words.

           “No,” said Neil. “You never wanted to find me. You knew what you did. And this whole glass thing is your reward. Glass is forever.” Neil took a breath, “Too bad glass isn't unbreakable,” he said, devoid of emotion.

           Neil stepped closer, “Neil, wait!” cried Elizabeth. “I can help you find him. We’ll make this right. Together.”

           He took a moment to consider this offer. And then another to throw it aside. Like the glass mech, he dismantled her, starting with the limbs. He had grown used to the pleads and cries of his oh so many victims, that it was no surprise that Elizabeth’s screams could only barely stir his heart. In mere seconds, her body was a pile of shattered glass on the floor. Albert, who had been on his hands and knees shaking in fear, forced himself to his feet from the sight of his love’s demise. He charged at Neil and Neil easily backhanded him. Though the strangest thing happened. There was no audible crunch when his hand struck flesh. Albert’s face was crack free. Neil looked down at his hand and realized that the curse was gone. In an almost dazed state, he walked to the exit and left the building without uttering another word. The few men of his that were left saw this and followed him.

           The judges had survived this ordeal, being smart enough to stay out of it though not smart enough to call law enforcement or ask the security guards to come back early from their lunch break. With many of the contestants either dead or having had their displays destroyed before the final judging, the judges were left with very few options to pick from. Ultimately, the prize went to the guy that made a baking soda volcano who was drinking from a glass of water. It truly must have been the highlight of young Mr. Fulp’s life. And, walking passed the shattered glass and dead bodies, the portly opera singer climbed the stage and sang to her heart’s content.

The End?

Yes, it is.