Shattered Glass

Shattered Glass

Dear Reader, 

            I have been asked to recount the events of the last century for the national archives. As I am not inclined to argue, I’m doing so, though the events that I’m to recount are not altogether pleasant. 

            The Clears, the men, say that history is always bound to repeat itself, and they’re right. 

            Our history started a little more than a century ago when man, the Clears, made their greatest discovery. They found that the creatures they hunted and feared could be of use to them. The strength of werewolves, the speed of vampires, the gifts of witches, the abilities of shapeshifters, the telepathy of Fae, and the teleportation of the spirits could all be used to the greed of men.

            And that’s exactly what they did.

            At first, my people were glad to help man since it was the first time we’d actually been accepted by them. Then, it got worse. They used us for everything we were. Man forced vampires and werewolves to turn countless innocent people and use them for their powers. We weren’t people anymore. We were creatures, monsters, and nothing more. 

            Supernaturals flocked to the land of Libretia for freedom but found chains. They wanted a new beginning but found more oppression than their homeland. It was awful, and I hate to even write about it. 

            It wasn’t until one sensible man, one man who changed history, took power that we were free. 

            Well, we were freed on paper. In reality, not much changed. For years, no one trusted us. The magic that men had profited off of was then used against us. It became our only identifying factor. If we told anyone what we were, whether it be Fae or vampire or whatever, their eyes would widen. It was as though our personality didn’t matter anymore; it was just our magic. 

            It hurt. It hurt my mother; it hurt my father; it hurt me. I would go to school with my head hung low. All the kids would interrogate me just to see if I could lie to them. They’d bring iron and dig it into my skin just to see my burns. I’d come home with tears in my eyes, but my parents could do nothing about it. The administration acted as if we didn’t exist. 

            I watched as the Clears treated us like monsters after all we had done for them. They separated us from them like the magic they coveted was a disease, a sickness. My family couldn’t even go outside without someone looking at us strangely. 

            There was a family of Clears, though, that was different. They moved next door to us, and for the first time in my life, I received something I had never gotten from the Clears: acceptance. There was a little girl in the family who soon became my best friend. We played together, went to school together, and even went on a vacation together. They were the first people to treat me and my family as people. 

            Soon, the world seemed to settle down. Everyone was more or less friends. At least, everyone learned to live with each other. Vampires helped their friends study throughout the night. The Clears calmed werewolves during the full moon. Dryads led tours through the forest. Naiads became lifeguards on the most dangerous beaches. Clears rid the ocean of trash for the mermaids. Angels healed those who asked for them. It was pure bliss. 

            At first, I thought it was a sort of elaborate hoax. I thought it couldn't be real, but it soon proved true. Because of those instances, I learned that not all Clears hated us. In fact, some actually admired us for our skill and determination. 

            Still, of course, not everyone felt the same way. Our two families participated in countless peaceful protests, though every time someone ended us getting hurt. Mama always said that one-day things would change, but it wouldn't if we stood by and did nothing. 

            Well, soon enough, the world did change, for better or worse. The Supernaturals kept growing and multiplying until there were more of us than the Clears. Oh, but the Clears knew that and did everything they could to control us. Some business required us to put iron chips in our skin. Others chained their employees to the desk with silver. There was one that coated the walls with brass. The Clears tried everything to keep us down. 

            But, no one was willing to go through with that again. Soon, there were Supernaturals in almost every position of power. Oh, how the tables had turned. Now, it was the Clears that were looked down on. It was the Clears that were made to do more difficult jobs. It was the Clears that were teased and ridiculed on the playground. Gosh, even writing about it brings the images to mind. 

Here is the cold, hard truth: society is broken. Clears and Supernaturals alike have always found ways to discriminate, whether it be gender, sexuality, race, or magic. They always found a group they believed to be inferior. 

Imagine a shattered glass vase. Even if you glue the pieces back together, there will always be something between the shards. There will always be those cracks. 

            There is an ancient word, kintsukuroi, which means “to repair with gold”. This is when a piece of pottery is glued together gold or silver, showing that the piece is more beautiful being broken. Our world may be broken, but we will all rise with more knowledge, more understanding, to repair with gold. From the ashes, we will rise like the Phoenix. We will change this world. We can repair the cracks. 

So, dear reader, as I write this at the request of the new Supernatural government, I beg you to look at this broken world. I beg you to see the divide between Clears and Supernatural and build a bridge. I beg you to fix what we have done to this world. The world won't change if we sit by and do nothing. It is our duty, our responsibility, to change. We owe it to everyone that will come after us. We owe it to ourselves to fix this. If not, we'll be caught in an endless cycle of oppression. We alone can break the cycle. We alone can repair the cracks. We alone can change the world we live in. It’s up to us because no one else is going to fight our battle. 

Here’s to hope, 

Cerelia Bronsone