Please [Don't] Believe Me

The Glass

Nate pried open his eyes, expecting to see the white ceiling he had woken up to the day before. Except, it wasn't.

Sitting up and looking around, everything seemed as it should be. Nate was home, in his own bed.

'Was it a dream...?' Nate wondered, frowning as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Ow!" He yelled as his right foot came in contact with what he thought would just be the wooden floor. Pulling his foot up, Nate winced as he tried to pull the shattered glass from his foot. He didn't remember breaking anything, so how did the glass get broken?

Nate stood and stepped over the glass, walking to the edge of his bed.

"... You've got to be fucking kidding me," Nate grumbled under his breath.

Shattered glass seemed to coat the floor, both tiny and large shards seeming to taunt him as they glistened in the sunlight. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous?

Since Nate didn't have a broom, he'd have to improvise. Grabbing a pillow, he used it to push the glass aside to clear a path. That still didn't solve the whole glass in the foot problem.

Limping into the hall, Nate made his way to the bathroom. He propped his foot up in the sink, letting the water rinse the blood off. Hissing through gritted teeth, Nate grabbed a brown towel and tied it around his foot to act as a bandage, seeing as he didn't have any. He knew he would have to clean the wound, but at the moment, Nate wasn't quite prepared for that kind of pain.

With a sigh, Nate walked into the main room of his home. He was preparing to walk into the kitchen when he suddenly heard the sound of birds chirping.

'Strange...' Nate thought, 'I could have sworn I closed all the windows...' This whole morning was strange. Nate walked to the window, reaching out to close it. Instead of his hand hitting the glass, Nate's hand went out the window.

"Uh..." Nate mumbled, looking at the other windows. The glass on each and every window was gone. Yet, there was no glass on the floor. Not even a single piece.

'I wonder if Mark is having any weird shit happen...' Nate wondered. He decided to call, that way Mark could confirm whether the rooms they were locked in were real or not.

Walking to his phone that lay face down on the counter, he picked it up, prepared to dial Mark's number.

"Okay yep, I'm losing my goddamn mind. Why not take the phone's glass too?! Jesus Christ..." Nate growled in anger, glaring at the phone that had no glass and no screen, rendering it useless.

Sighing, Nate changed into decent clothes and ran his hands through his hair a few times. He limped to the front door and grabbed his keys, foot now in a sock and shoe instead of a towel.

After starting the drive to Mark's house, Nate came to the painful realization that trying to drive with the bottom of your right foot looking like a raw hamburger isn't the most fun thing in the world.

Nate pulled into the driveway, awkwardly, and parked. He climbed out of the car and limped to the front door, ringing the doorbell.

No answer.

Nate knocked on the door a few times before ringing the doorbell again, dread filling his stomach. Was Mark okay? His car was here, it's not like he could have taken off and left.

Nate limped around the side of the house, thinking maybe Mark was in the back yard playing with Chica, maybe swimming. Still, Nate couldn't shake the feeling of dread.

The feeling of dread only worsened as Nate heard sobs.

"Mark...?" Nate called timidly, scared at what he would find. Taking a deep breath, Nate forced himself forward.

Mark was laying on his side, back to Nate, sobbing beside a patch of dirt. A shovel was stuck in the ground, which made Nate's stomach sink further.

"Mark...?" Nate called, stepping closer. Mark didn't answer, clutching something to his chest as he sobbed.

Nate felt the icy hand of fear grip his heart, freezing as he stared at what the man clutched in his hand.

"I-I killed her Nate!!" Mark sobbed, voice barely audible.

"I killed Chica!!"