It is daytime; the birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the scent of coffee is lingering. Or so I’d like to say. In the middle of the city, the closest you get to a chirping bird would probably be a pigeon. As for the sun, it’s shining alright. The warm rays are intensified by the glass ceiling they shine through and even more so by the glass box encasing me. It’s always so hot thanks to the stupid greenhouse effect. As for coffee, what does that even smell like again? Nothing gets past these glass walls, not even sounds.

Life inside the glass box sounds pretty boring doesn’t it? I suppose it can be, especially when your roommates are…eccentric, to say the least. I live with two others; Sharon, a pair of earrings, and Herbert, a bracelet. Sharon is what you’d call an “odd ball.” She talks of escaping one day, adventuring in the so called “wilderness,” and exploring the world. It makes you wonder a bit if she’s new around here, just a bit. Then I remember that the three of us have been together since who knows. Herbert, you can say I like this kid more. He’s a quiet one but a great listener; oh and he tolerates Sharon more than I do. He probably dreams on his own time, absorbing Sharon’s little fantasies as inspiration almost. Perhaps there is still a chance of a curator bringing a ring to complete our set. Is there even a ring in our set? I honestly cannot remember, I was too young when I was first made to recall anything. I was definitely created last though, as the most important and most striking piece in the set, the necklace. (Not that I think I’m especially exquisite, but you tend to eventually believe so after staring at your reflection everyday in the glass box.)

Sometimes I wonder about this, maybe I have grown dull? I no longer think of escaping. Was it not too long ago when I used to wish for a robber to come for us? He would charge in with a pistol loaded with bullets strong enough to break through the glass and seize us into a sack. It’d all happen so fast, we wouldn’t even realize it: a loud shattering sound, a sea of colors blurring; then, pitch black. Thinking about this calmly now, what would we do after being freed from this glass box? Wouldn’t we just be encased in yet another one? If so, is there really –

“Morning!” Sharon chirps in her usual cheery voice, interrupting my thoughts. Herbert yawns in response while I flatly return her greeting. She doesn’t seem to notice as she continues chattering away.

Humans slowly start filing into the room, officially marking the start of a new day. I drone out Sharon’s babbling and try to make out the conversations the humans are having. As always, I fail in doing so, not that they’re talking much. All most of them do are stare at the paintings on the wall, or at us in the glass box. Their eyes often sparkle with awe; we must be that beautiful huh?

At some point in the day (more like a few minutes later), just watching them is boring. However, Sharon is still droning on, and I must entertain myself. I look over to the far right corner where a new man has just walked in. He’ll do. Let’s see; he’s quite tall, perhaps five foot ten? An open, long beige trench coat drapes over him, effortlessly flowing behind. A grey turtleneck peeps through the slightly raised lapels on his coat. My eyes travel down and greet his dark wash jeans which appear to be too long for him; he has them rolled up once or twice. On his feet, he wears a pair of dark grey Vans. How nice, his shoes look worn out; they must have gone everywhere together. It would be so exciting to converse with the shoes!

I recall my initial interest in the man, not his shoes, as he walks over to our glass box. His face is lean and well shaven, he takes care of himself. However, past his awe in our stunning beauty, his facial features are painted blue.

He is a book store clerk by the name of Clark. He is probably around twenty three? That sounds about right, twenty three. Clark has an odd knack for mystery novels. Being a bookworm he has never known how to interact with females, and having a sister with a brother complex usually did not work in his favor when he did enter a relationship. It definitely didn’t help with his most recent snag; he was convinced she was the love of his life, he had finally found happiness. However, one small fight quickly escalated into a string of arguments. After being talked into leaving Clark, his girlfriend at the time dumped him. Visiting these display buildings would be his favorite activity once he fell into a rut, which is why he’s here.

“Poor Clark,” I muttered to myself out loud. Herbert and Sharon turned to look at me, both with their heads cocked in confusion.

“Who’s Clark?” Sharon questioned.

I was taken aback, had I said it that loudly? “Oh, ah, uh… That man over there in the trench coat.”

Herbert snorted, “What’s that? Are you assigning people life stories again?”

“Is there something wrong with that?! It’s pretty darn entertaining!” I huffed. Herbert shook his head as if to say ‘and yet you think Sharon and I are weird for wanting to escape.’

Sharon, on the other hand, often enjoyed my little stories. Her eyes lit up as she exclaimed, “So?! What kind of guy is he?”

I chuckled; this wasn’t going to get old anytime soon. I might as well continue and see where I get. Maybe one day a robber really will come with a gun. Ah, just as long as the bullets don’t hit one of us, I’d be fine with it. I inhaled before I started to verbalize the man’s biography, “Well, his name is Clark…”