[ WP ] A group of people worship a small , plain , clear glass marble . You touch it , and realise why .

There was once a man, he said that if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. So I gazed into the marble as if it was the abyss. I could only look at it from afar as every other curious observer did. But it never gazed at me back, could it be there were too many others so it would gaze at me? I was not special, surely I was not, and only the special could take a closer look. There were even other, so special, the chosen they called them. Not very intricate name if you ask me, but the name very descriptive as they were indeed chosen. No one did know how and why the chosen were chosen, but they were and that was all that mattered. I would visit the marble every evening after work, like it was my dear friend. My dearest friend, it who would not even look at me. But I looked at it, and that was enough. I once felt, I think I did. It looked at me, for the shortest of times it looked at me. That night I could n't sleep, I could n't eat the day after not until I saw it again. The marble, nothing special about it, but had you did place any other in its place, I would know, they would know. We all would know. The time passed, but the marble never looked at me again. I was never special, I was never chosen, but I was old. So much time I've spent looking at it, only one look it gave back. My last days were near, I felt it deep down I think even the marble felt it. I went to see it one last time. Too see the marble that looked at me once. One last gaze I gave it and I turned my back. I walked slowly again, and then I heard the noise. The sound of the marble hitting the ground resonated, everyone was quiet in an instant. The sound that made the silence. Then I saw it, slowly rolling towards me. It stopped at my feet, I noticed my worn off shoes, it must have been a long time since I got a new pair. I picked up the marble, gently, holding back the tears. My whole life I waited for that. I squeezed the marble and I closed my eyes. Is that what happiness feels like? I asked myself over and over squeezing the ball harder and harder. I did n't know. I opened my eyes and then I saw myself young again standing in the back of the very same room I stood for whole my life, I saw myself through a glass wall. I looked into my own eyes and I saw that I was not happy, I turned in shame.
