il était une fois

it was summer when the first windows were opened, when the changes began and onlt afew summers after when they were ordered to be shut but some things are easier said than done. the world unravelled into chaos soon after. public transport ceased to exist, riots began, agreements were broken, governments were accused and glass - amongst other things - fell from the sky. the two realities had begun to merge together.

to keep civilians in order, to keep the world ‘safe’, rebels were created. weapons, mutated with the dna of the soldiers that fell from the sky, they were descents of the unknown, other-wordly monsters. it only took a handful of years before it was realised that the rebels were doing more harm than good, they couldn’t be controlled and so, with a quick conference and a signing, they were made illegal. caught, they were sent to cells, used for experimentation, they were forgotten.

it was a tuesday. shards of glass fell from the skies above, shattering into dozens of sparkling particles as they hit the cobbled streets of paris, frightening a stray tabby  that hadn’t hidden itself away. down an alleyway - just off of rue de la pompe - laughter could be heard through an open window. inside, Valère the chef and his young apprentice were ridding themselves of their stained aprons. it was past 5  which meant a cab ride home for Valère and a flight of stairs for Gaspar who lived above the bakery in a pastel-decor flat. Handing the chef his umbrella and seeing him to the door, Gaspar drifted back inside and stood in the doorway of the bakery for a breath before flicking the lights off and then trudging upstairs into his apartment. his routine never changed; it only took a handful of mundane moments for him to light up a fag on the balcony, lean on the railings and watch the sweepers rid the streets of glass. heading back inside, he shed his clothes and fell into bed to dream of nothing.