Glass Box
Shreya Nilangekar
The Girl looks frustrated. Her wide brown eyes, shielded behind black frames, blankly stare at her computer as she types in words and phrases before deleting them. She brushes her fingertips over her mahogany desk with a soft rhythm, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. Pat. Pat. Pat. Then she stops and tilts her head, allowing her gaze to trail over the scattered objects in her workspace, and finally, beyond the small corner of her bedroom that she inhabits. An upended pencil holder balances over the folded pages of a half-used notebook. The soft edges of an eraser touch the sticky flaps of a post-it note. Purple and pink alternate between the even surfaces of the walls. The Girl sighs loudly and stands up to open the heavy curtains that billow over her bedroom floor.
Beams of sunlight peek through the crevices of the window and spill into the room, highlighting the borders of The Girl’s silhouette. Unbeknownst to her, the pale tendrils intertwine into one another and twirl around delicately in the air, creating a prism of rippling light. They suddenly spin faster around each other, causing different shades of color to erupt from the movement before splitting. Two distinct microscopic beings, belonging to a group known as The Other Ones, materialize in the air. They hover behind The Girl, surrounded by a ring of falling light. She sits back down at her desk and resumes typing on her keyboard.
“Your collisions are becoming increasingly turbulent,” the first being, One, says, accompanied by the circling of blue and silver. “This makes visiting The Girl a much harder task than it needs to be.”
“Adjusting to this world’s atmosphere is admittedly not the easiest thing for me,” the second being, Two, replies, washed in waves of amber and violet. “Especially when this painful process does not lead to any outcome.”
“I would not call you here if I did not believe that The Girl was making a serious attempt at writing this time. And besides, there is nothing more rewarding than to see one’s creation step into their destined role as an artist. There is a chance that we could see her write the next greatest literary work and not even know it.”
The Girl opens up a new tab and types “synonyms for the color red” in the search bar.
“Cardinal. Coral. Crimson.” Two lists the first words that appear on The Girl’s screen. “This is absolutely riveting.”
“I do not appreciate your unnecessary commentary,” One responds.
“We have been observing The Girl for one month now, and she still hasn’t written a single piece that could be considered substantial. I think we are past the point of ‘writer’s block’. Maybe we are treading into a more serious realm.”
“Why else would we be here then? We are what the humans don’t understand, what they choose not to believe…at least in these modern times.”
“I do not need a reminder of my intended purpose, One.”
“Perhaps you do. After all, you were the one who traveled to other galaxies to find new creations instead of tending to this one.”
“I go where Her instructs me to go. And you know that this…earthly timeline works a little differently than other places.”
“Four years is still a long time to be away from The Girl, considering that she is entering the most critical stages of her writing development.”
“If you are expecting some sort of apology from me, then you are simply wasting your time.”
“Someone must take responsibility for this! Our jobs would be much easier to do if we could simply communicate with The Girl in a way that she would be able to understand?”
The gentle notes of fluttering wind chimes tremble in the air. The Girl sharply swivels her chair in the direction of One and Two, narrowing her eyes. Her expression is mingled with confusion, hope, and sadness. She does not exactly look at the beings, but rather around the illuminated space they occupy. On the opposite side, The Other Ones take in the details of her appearance. The round arches of her eyelids. The curls of her eyelashes. The dewy pores of her skin.
“Are you able to…see us?” One shoots specks of blue across the room. “Were you able to see what I did there?”
The Girl slowly stands up and takes a few steps forward.
“If our existence was meant to be discovered, then I do not think it would happen like this.”
“Don’t you see that we’re on the precipice of something new? Something terrifying, mysterious, and yet transcendent? One of our creations has finally reached a level of sentience that allows her to access our existence and discover the truth behind what she really is! This could change the course of things for good! Could you imagine how all of the conversations we would have would conjure the most delicious new ideas in her, waiting to be poured out?”
She reaches over the mint green couch that faces her desk and picks up her phone. There are a few notifications alerting her of the missed call she received. Her phone flashes again with the same caller ID, but she does not answer it. She blinks quickly, drawing the corners of her mouth down. The remaining flutters of the wind chimes fade.
Two laughs loudly, causing spots of purple to disperse around the room. “Did you really think that she could see us? Perceive us as what we are? The forms we take on are so small that the human eye cannot even process what we look like, let alone comprehend what we are! If you could believe something like this, then I might have overestimated your intelligence.”
The loose post-it notes on The Girl’s desk fall to the ground as One exhales angrily. “It was a brief moment of suspension! A true Other One would get swept up in the idea of discovery and open connection if they truly cared about the well-being of their creations! Someone so detached and careless as you are could never understand the depth of what I feel!”
“You can save your melodramatic and righteous speeches for the audience of Her. I’m far more interested in what is causing this type of emotional reaction in The Girl.”
The Girl places her phone down and increases the volume on her device. A voicemail sits in her inbox. She breathes in and out shakily before pressing the play button to hear what it says out loud. There is a second of quiet. Then, a hesitant female voice clearly on the verge of tears fills the room.
“Listen, I just wanted to say I was sorry again. I know you’re not picking up my calls—and I completely understand why you aren’t because I really messed up this time—so I felt like I should say it here.” The Girl pauses the voicemail and wipes her face before continuing. “I’m sorry. I truly am. What I said was wrong and stupid, even if my intention wasn’t to hurt your feelings. There’s no excuse for what I did, and I promise I won’t do it again. I just want to make it right. Just please talk to me, send me a text, something. I love you, babe.”
The voicemail ends. The Other Ones float towards The Girl and look over her shoulder. She drafts a text message along the lines of “I don’t hate you” or “I just need some time to process things” but doesn’t send it. Instead, she scrolls through the pictures in her photo album until she settles on one that causes the tears to stream down her face faster.
In this picture, The Girl and her lover kiss. A lush, viridescent garden with cherry trees, small goldenrod flowers, and a clear blue sky unfolds in the background. The Girl wears a light pink sundress that cascades to her knees, paired with dainty crystal earrings that dangle. Her lover wears a form-fitted lace top, dark washed jeans, and high platform sneakers. The one feature they seem to have in common is the matching rainbow bracelets adorned on their wrists.
“Well this seems to be a new development. They appeared so happy and content in each other’s presence when I last saw them.”
“Young couples tend to be more dramatic since the passion runs higher,” Two explains. “It’s quite normal for them to have tough periods. But their fight is insignificant compared to my concern for The Girl’s inability to write in the heat of these moments.”
“Yes, I have noticed that lately as well. These important events do not spur her to express her emotions through an alternate medium. All of this confirms a theory I’ve been contemplating recently.”
“Which is?”
“That The Girl is plagued with Demons.”
A silence falls over One and Two. The Girl slides her phone over her desk, closes her laptop abruptly, and rearranges the objects on her desk in an effort to be more tidy. The notebooks are halfheartedly stacked and the writing utensils barely make it into the cup holder when she flops over her bed and pulls a velvety blanket over her face.
“I suppose that’s all the progress she will make today.”
“I think we need to address what you just said before. Demons? All of the Demons we give to our creations have been approved extensively by Her, and also well in advance-”
“Apparently what I’ve been hearing from The Other Ones who are in charge of Demon Control is that humans have been developing at a faster rate these past few years. A good number of them aren’t ours.”
“Do these ones function like diseases or parasites?”
“Worse. They’re so primitive that they’re completely unaware of their purpose yet. They just do what helps them to survive— they devour.”
“I thought you said these Demons were primitive. If they’re robbing humans of their emotions, they’re taking away what makes them human. They’re taking away human expression!”
“They aren’t just taking away human expression. They’re leaving humans with nothing to express. It’s interfering with our entire system.”
The Girl snuggles into the blanket draped over her frame, her body curled in a fetal position. She snores softly, mumbling incoherently. Her glasses droop over her nose and tumble down her pillow. Two gingerly picks up her glasses and places them neatly beside her.
“Is there a way for us to find out which Demons The Girl is suffering from? Maybe even summon one or two?”
“In order to do that, you would have to summon the exact emotion that the Demons have manifested into. Which is not something we can easily do since we do not have enough information about her to conduct a thorough analysis of her emotional and mental state.”
“Based on what I’ve seen this past month, writing is a form of self-expression—please do not interrupt by pointing out how obvious that is. And yet, she approaches all of her pieces with this detached manner, almost like she is afraid to write while experiencing more intense emotions. As if she seeks some type of satisfaction in writing the most perfectly worded lines.”
“So it might be anxiety? Excessive desire for perfectionism? Fear? Procrastination?”
“All of the above, maybe? How can you pick one thing to write about if you feel everything at the same time? But again, all of this is just vague speculation. We don’t have any real proof.”
“Well, Her always said that our creations had certain things in common. Most of them are creative, imaginative, empathetic, passionate, and–”
“- and introspective!” Two remembers. “The answer could lie in the last piece she wrote!”
One and Two flip through the papers strewn over The Girl’s desk, most of which contain notes of mathematical formulas, abstract theories, and doodles of her lover’s initials. Two opens The Girl’s computer and shoots sparks of amber over her keyboard that resemble the order of her password. The password goes through. The amber spark flies to the exposed area of the computer that would typically be connected to a charger and lodges itself inside. A file saved a month ago labeled “Untitled” pops up on the screen. Somehow, this piece feels different from the rest of The Girl’s other works. It looks raw. Unfinished.
“The Girl never leaves anything incomplete.”
“Read it.”
“‘We both know the issue is not her Depression or her Sadness. We give our creations pain from time to time to encourage their abilities,’” Two reads aloud. ‘“But her Demons are not just of Depression and Sadness. She has no Motivation, and she does not believe in herself. The Demons have created chaos in her, and she cannot write.’”
“Impressive. In her own way, she knew about us.” Then realization dawns on One. “So I was, in fact, correct about The Girl being somewhat aware of our existence! Perhaps it is you who needs to re-evaluate your intelligence.”
“Hush, One. I am in the middle of something very important right now.”
Two scans the entirety of the page. The last paragraph stops mid-sentence, the words “glass box” italicized underneath. There is no context to make sense of the words.
“Maybe the answer is something even she is not fully aware of yet.”
One hovers above The Girl and brushes away a strand of hair that rests on her forehead. A tiny silver drop lightly grazes her skin before sinking into it. A few seconds pass. The drop trickles out of her ear and returns back to circling around One.
“Attempting to infiltrate a creation’s mind through dreams is a breach of protocol, but in this case, I have confirmation that she is currently experiencing the non-REM stage of her sleeping cycle. I know that the circumstances are not ideal, but this is the closest that we may get to solving The Girl’s problem.”
“I guess I am not above taking a risk for a creation.”
One and Two jump into the intricate threads of The Girl’s mind, maneuvering through her neurons and cells. Once they pass the physical barrier, they form a link with her subconscious, asking for permission to enter. Her subconscious lets them in.
One and Two arrive at a blank landscape. It looks deceivingly empty, but they know it is not. A powerful vibration resonates through the soft, shapeless bounds of the white void. They feel the weight of her unexpressed words and thoughts, her raw emotions, her desires. Fragments of letters, words, and numbers form in the air, jumbling into one another as they glide aimlessly in no particular direction.
“The true heart of all our creations,” One muses. “The start of everything. There’s always so much hope and innocence buried in unexplored potential.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve explored a creation’s void.” Two confesses, overwhelmed. “I’m not sure how we can even find what we’re looking for without getting lost in here.”
Subtle tones of green and fuchsia glimmer in the void, attracting the attention of the levitating vowels and consonants. The letters revolve around the bursting swell of light, creating a dizzying, hypnotic effect. A tiny, fairy-like being known as Nine appears in front of One and Two.
“Nine? What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you that same question, One. I believe that you are supposed to be blessing other creations on Her’s list right now, and yet, you seem to be spending a lot of time with this one.”
“The Girl was my creation, but One has also assumed responsibility for her as well,” Two interjects. “And I believe that you were assigned Demon Control by Her the last time we communicated.”
“Yes, well, there has been a slight change.” Nine shoos away the term “spoon” that clings to its pinkish aura. “Spoon” does not budge.
“Have you been here before? Why does The Girl’s void behave as if you are a familiar presence?”
Nine finally unsticks “spoon” and sends it floating back to the rest of the swirling contents in the void. “I was getting to that point, Two. Her has assigned me a special mission to track some of the Demons I have been encountering so that I can study their different patterns of behavior. I seem to have followed a particular Demon here.”
“What exactly does this Demon do?” One prods. “And should we be concerned that it is somehow attached to The Girl?”
“Let’s just say that the humans these Demons feed on are…no longer with us.”
The silence is unnerving.
“We must solve this issue quickly and inform Her that The Girl is in danger.” As soon as Two says this, a string of words line up in front of The Other Ones:
Themselves control defend to cannot walls creating existence raw new Her their too Demons others there are We another care will our come like our parts the of fall will Universe little eaten stuck its in ready pretty trap be to and creatures creation
“How can your creation have our vocabulary hidden in her psyche? Have you managed to reveal yourselves to her in some sort of way? Because that is an offense with a very strict punishment-”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nine.” One attempts to shuffle the words in an order that aligns with what they read before. “We recently figured out that our creation wrote a piece about us. We don’t know how or why this has happened, but considering the new information we have just learned, figuring out the true context of it should help us save her from a potentially terrible situation.”
“Very well. But I don’t think you’ll get far with the method you’re using.” Nine gestures to the void, taking command of the disordered paragraph. “Allow me.”
A shower of pink covers the words. The landscape seems to stretch out longer than usual, shining brighter than normal. The words start to rearrange themselves, struggling to form proper sentences. Whispers of The Girl’s unheard thoughts and emotions surround The Other Ones as they beg to be acknowledged. A terrifying intensity fills the void.
There is a moment of calm, and then the following message appears:
Her Demons are raw, new to their existence, creating walls even they cannot control to defend themselves.
There are others like Us, so if We cease to exist, another will come to care for our creation. We are only the tiniest parts of the Universe. But the others will fall prey to the Demons’ trap, and We will be stuck in its little__, like pretty creatures ready to be eaten.
“That was quite impressive of you, Nine,” One begrudgingly admits.
“Thank you, One.” Nine takes notice of the absence of Two’s speech. “I’m assuming that you know what this blank part is supposed to represent.”
“Yes. I think if we were to insert the words ‘glass box’ there, then everything would make sense.” When Two says this, the remaining fragments of letters and words in the void scramble to create the words “glass box” and fit themselves in the middle of the paragraph. It begins to glow a golden color.
“I believe we might have stumbled on something unprecedented,” Nine states. “I’ve only ever seen a few voids act this way before.”
“Acting like what?”
“It’s not uncommon to see messages form in a void. Generally, that means a creation’s subconscious is trying to communicate something very important,” Nine recalls. “But if that message is coated in gold, then this is not a message for the creation itself but for us.”
“What would The Girl have to say to us?” One and Two say at the same time.
“The Girl, as you call her, is simply a conduit in this case. One, Two, I thank you for helping me find this prophecy. I must inform Her about this immediately.”
“A prophecy?” Two cannot believe this. “There are prophecies for us?”
“You still have a lot to learn, Two, and I cannot explain everything to you right now. I wish you luck with this creation, but I have to leave now.” Green and fuchsia light rotate around Nine as the being floats away in a different direction to exit The Girl’s void.
“If you are as fair and rational as you suggest, please give us credit for helping to discover the prophecy!” One calls out, but receives no answer.
“I highly doubt Nine will even mention us when describing the prophecy to Her.”
“That is the last thing I’m worried about. I have a bad feeling about all of this. First we find out that The Girl is somewhat aware of our existence—even if she believes that it is just another idea for writing—and now we have been told that there are prophecies for us out there? There is a darker, more sinister force at play here, something that our kind will find difficult to handle.”
“I agree. We may not have the status that Nine has, but it is very unfair that we have not been told important information that could influence how we manage our creation…One? Are you listening to me? You seem spaced out.”
“Two…do you know why The Girl’s void is acting strange right now?”
“Voids are always strange to me.”
“But this is not what I would call normal, even for a void.”
The void temporarily flares red, almost like an alarm. Bits and pieces of the letters, words, and numbers in The Girl’s void start to fall off and disintegrate. As if they know they are being threatened, they work in unison to huddle together in a protective circle until a big ball of black font is all that can be seen.
“Why is this happening? Why are they acting like they are preparing for an emergency?”
The piercing sounds of Nine’s screams are heard in the distance.
“Maybe it’s because they are!”
“One? Two? Please help me! I—I can’t feel anything right now!” Nine yells. “I can see it! Oh my god, it’s horrifying!”
“Nine?” One and Two yell back. “What’s going on there? Are you okay?”
“Spoon” disentangles itself from the defensive shield of the alphabetical script. A few words lean in close to “spoon” to prevent it from leaving, but “spoon” defiantly breaks away from the group and rushes over to One and Two.
“I can see it! Oh my god, it’s horrifying!” Nine’s voice slowly drifts apart from One and Two’s voices.
“What are you seeing? Nine? Nine?”
One, Two, and their newfound ally “spoon” attempt to follow the direction of Nine’s voice, but get continuously distracted by the whiteness of The Girl’s void. There was no end. The white prison was everywhere all at once. “Spoon” slumps forward and shakes, causing the letters “o”, “p”, and “n” to briefly disconnect from each other. The letters scatter in different directions in a mission to find Nine.
Suddenly, a slow, methodical tearing sound envelops the void, accompanied with the release of fireworks. The walls rumble as a flammable scent fills the void.
“One? Two? I’m very sorry for the way I treated you before! If you come over here and help me right now, I promise I’ll put in a good word for you with Her!” Nine pleads in pain.
“Your safety is more important right now!” One answers. “Where are those letters? How long could it possibly take to locate an Other One in this void?”
Right on cue, the missing letters “o”, “p”, and “n” return back to “spoon”. Before rejoining the rest of its fellow letters, “p” takes the sharp end of its tail and points towards the right. The Other Ones and “spoon” race in that direction, scanning every inch of the void to find any remains of particles or light that could hint at Nine’s whereabouts.
The tearing stops, replaced with loud, obnoxious crunching. The pace of the crunching begins slowly, as if to savor the separation of each atom. And then it picks up speed, slurping and gushing and gulping. The cracks and bangs of the fireworks become more intense and thunderous with each bite. The floors of the void split in response.
The team of three finally sees a glittering trail of green and pink on the ground. “Spoon” moves close to Nine’s residue and stops for a second. Then “spoon” cocks up and breezes along, One and Two following behind. By the time they reach the scene, it is too late. They are able to catch a single glance of Nine lying down, completely immobilized, with streams of light flowing out from its body before a blinding flash sends the rest of the beings flying back.
There is nothing.
And then, there isn’t.
Once everything has cleared, The Other Ones and “spoon” are greeted by a terrible sight. Deep cracks and scratches run across the walls. The edges are chipped off and immediately disintegrate when they come into contact with the ground. A thick black liquid oozes from the cracks and curls over the colorful remains of Nine’s essence, crushing it completely.
“Nine!” One panics. “How could things go so wrong in just a few moments? What are we going to tell Her? That some unseen beast managed to…destroy Nine? How is any of this possible?”
“I don’t think this was the work of some ‘unseen beast’ as you say. I believe that we may have encountered the consequences of something much bigger than us.”
“The consequences of…” Realization dawns on One. “The prophecy!”
“‘But the others will fall prey to the Demons’ trap, and We will be stuck in its little glass box, like pretty creatures ready to be eaten,’” Two quotes from verbatim. “The Demon that Nine was tracking must have done this.”
“But why now? If the Demon found out that it was being followed, then why would it wait to eliminate Nine?”
“I believe that these creatures have evolved to become much more intelligent than we anticipated. The words ‘Demon’s trap’ in the prophecy is not just an exaggeration—it is a warning of what will come. The Demons merely see us as an obstacle in the way of their ultimate goal.”
“Which is why we must remain extremely careful and alert at all times, so that we do not end up like Nine.”
The black slime dissolves into each corner of The Girl’s void until no trace of it is left. The white walls and floors merge into one another again, healing from the commotion The Demon’s monstrous presence has caused. As if sensing that it is safe to come out, the letters, words, and numbers part from each other and return to their original state.
“Thank you for everything you have done for us, ‘spoon’. In spite of the danger we faced, you stood by our side and did not back down. We will never forget what you have done for us.” One and Two stroke “spoon” comfortingly, who wiggles in appreciation and rejoins the rest of the drifting script in the void.
“We may have escaped danger for now, but that does not mean that the worst is over. The Demon has become acquainted with the contents in The Girl’s void and it may have developed a taste for it.”
“The Demon might have also developed a taste for us as well,” Two points out. “Our existence may be in jeopardy.”
“That is not something I want to think about right now.”
“Agreed. We must go back to our plane and inform Her about everything we witnessed. As much as I found Nine to be smug and arrogant, it was right to say that we had a lot to learn. This is not a matter that we can handle on our own.”
A hole opens on the top of the void, revealing red, plump flesh. Two floats towards it.
“After you, One.”
The Other Ones latch on to The Girl’s cells and make their exit.
Shreya Nilangekar is majoring in Economics and minoring in Data Science and Creative Writing. She is one of the winners of the Winter 2022 Creativity Showcase hosted by Rutgers Writers House. Outside of writing and classes, you can find Shreya working as a Programs and Communications Assistant at the Samuel Dewitt Proctor Institute for Leadership Equity, and Justice–which is located at the Rutgers Graduate School of Education.
Shreya wrote this piece in Advanced Creative Writing–Fiction, taught by Professor Franco. Franco selected the piece for publication in WHR.