glass
When they first heard him speak they thought it was the wind blowing in through the window. The window was closed, but had no glass - just an empty frame.
"Never did trust glass," he used to say. "How can you trust something you can see through? Besides, did you know glass is a liquid? If you went away long enough, when you came back all your glass possessions would just be little glassy pools on the table. Best not to take the risk."
He was hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room, a phone cord tied securely in a noose around his neck. Beneath his feet his two flatmates were playing backgammon. Neither of them knew the rules and they just moved the pieces in a random fashion according to the dice throws.
"What was that?" They looked up at him, questioning.
"I said, you're playing it all wrong." His voice was just a whisper, the phone cord was pulled tight and his neck was broken.
"Aren't you meant to be dead?"
He tried to laugh. The phone cord gripped tighter.
They turned back to their game, lost deep in thought. Above them he rotated slowly, blown gently by the breeze coming in through the closed open window.
