Dream Meaning Of Broken Glass Novels & Stories

But before I could dwell on it further, my eyes landed back on the photo. Curious, I reached for the photo on the nightstand, wondering if I was imagining things. As I lifted it, l couldn't help but notice its weight. With trembling hands, I examined it closely, confirming that it was indeed real. It was the same woman I had seen in my recurring dreams, the one whose best friend betrayed. The memory of that dream flashed in my mind, causing me to lose my grip on the glass photo frame. The sound of shattering glass reverberated through the room, jolting me back to reality. For a moment, I stood motionless, the weight of realization sinking in. The photo inside was made out of glass. l stared

I shook my head and took a deep breath while rubbing my chest. "Relax, Monika... Ryan loves you and nothing can separate you from him. Relax." I muttered and poured water into a glass from a jug. My hands were shivering. After drinking water, I extended my hand to keep it on the table, but it slipped from my hand. I closed my eyes when the loud smashing sound of glass hit my eardrums. It was like it was replicating my situation. I'm just shattered like that broken glass and everything is falling apart from my hand. Maybe I have moved on with Ryan, but past trauma still haunts me and is snatching my happiness. There is a fear in my heart that the house I built with Ryan is made of glass, whic

What if they come down here and accidentally hurt themselves? I grab the broom and dustpan from the back and start sweeping. It's frustrating to clean up the mess of my new life. It feels like I'm always starting over. Something always goes wrong, and sometimes I just get so tired of it all. As I sweep, my eyes start to water. I watch the pieces of glass slide into the dustpan, and it feels like they symbolize every broken part of me over the years. Each piece represents exhaustion, loneliness, and betrayal. They keep piling up, and if I put them together, it would probably look like a fractured statue barely holding its shape.

"There is something all of you need to know about this marriage." The glass slipped from my fingers, hit the table and shattered, water and shards scattering across the polished wood. The sound of it cracked through the room like something much louder than a single broken glass had any right to be. Oh God. I was fucked. They found out.

The guard's next words were slow, careful, as though this had to be conveyed, and carried a great deal of meaning. "We think he may have lied." The glass slipped from my hand and It crashed against the floor and shattered into dozens of sharp pieces. The splashed whiskey spread across the tiles in golden streaks around the broken glass. Then only one question remained. Why? And it was the answer to that question that was going to break everything I knew. Bella. Her name echoed through my mind like a whisper I couldn't escape. I lifted my eyes slowly to the city beyond the window. It was evening by now and the sun had softened the edges of the sky with shades of orange and gold. It was a sple

Of something fragile and hopeful I'd crushed beneath my heel. The glass was heavy in my other hand. I lifted it, not in a toast, but in a gesture of utter futility. The amber liquid caught the dying light from the window. Free. With a sudden, violent surge of rage and despair, I hurled the glass against the stone fireplace. It exploded in a shower of crystal shards and whiskey, the sound shockingly loud in the silence. The liquid dripped like blood down the pale stone. I stared at the wreckage. The shattered glass. The spreading stain. The divorce papers. The ring.

“I must be dreaming.” Taking a sip from my glass filled with bourbon, I let the burning sensation stream from my throat into my body without getting myself to wake up. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “This is it. It is just a stupid nightmare, and I’ll wake up any moment.” Maybe there is another explanation to it, maybe it is all just a bad joke. A very bad one. Grabbing the glass with the amber liquid standing on my desk, I catapult it against the wall, making it shatter into thousands of pieces.

Need something to divert my attention before I kill a boy. I poured drinks into my glass and put the glass into my mouth, letting the alcohol enter my mouth. The bitter taste of the drinks flowed freely inside before it was gone. It tasted like water inside my throat. Still better to divert my mind from thinking about Keira and the boy she was with. She never thought twice about going with that boy. How much did he trust her? “Don’t destroy my glasses. Those are new.” I looked at my hand and it was only then that I felt the sting. The glass shattered in my hand, blood flowing freely.

‘Damn it!’ the scream echoed through the seemingly abandoned mansion, closely followed by the sound of glass shattering. A dark red liquid dripped ominously from the remains of what once had been a crystal whiskey glass. Staining both the wall it had been shattered against, and the carpet directly beneath said wall, now littered with glittering glass shards, as if millions of tiny diamonds had been scattered across the expensive hotel room.

Even my fingers hurt when I curled them. Fûck. I hadn't meant to do that. I had drank the whole bottle and then the next think I knew I was standing in the bathroom and wondering how to break it so I could take a shard long enough to murder the arsehole. But the moment I broke it, I couldn't look away from its sharp edges and my mind begged me for the sweet ache that it had been craving for so long. The insides of my thighs have new evidence of my demons but in my drunken haze I hadn't realised that the blood dripping down my thighs wasn't from the shallow cuts I was making but from where the sharp edge of the broken glass was digging into my palm.