Beyond the Glass House
Don’t open the door for anyone. Don’t think about going out. There are bad people out there that will harm you and take advantage of you. Don’t trust the outsiders.


The little girl’s parents reminded her before heading to work, leaving her alone in a large, glass house. The girl nodded, locking the door behind them as they left. 


The glass house stood alone on a tall hill, high enough to see the desolate city below, a place that was polluted and filthy because it was neglected by the government. 


The girl’s parents were wealthy and worked in political offices. They were able to afford a grand, glass house where they can observe the city in which they live. There was no shortage of entertainment in the house. The house had a library full of books as well as many computers to keep her busy. She did not care for the outside world as she indulged in the latest internet trends that kept her mind occupied. 


She turned on the TV to play in the background as she scrolled through the web. 


“There are an increasing number of people on the streets,” the news anchor reported. “Evidently, there are numerous signs of racial prejudice as more African Americans are targeted in evictions--”


The girl switched the channel, not wanting to hear anymore of the report when she heard a loud pounding at her door. She turned her head to see who had interrupted her leisure. 


A haggard African American boy stood against the door. His face was tired and his clothes were dirty and torn. The girl wanted to ignore him, but his earnest and desperate eyes told her otherwise. 


“Why are you here?” she asked.


The boy could not hear her through the walls and mouthed two words: “Help us.”


The girl shook her head. The male child frantically gestured at the door knob, indicating that she should open the door. Seeing such urgency, the little girl became curious about what he wanted. 


She cautiously opened it slightly, allowing only a small crack to hear the boy. She asked again, “Why are you here?”


The boy exclaimed, “Please help! My mother is sick and cannot work. Can you spare us some food or money for medicine?”


The girl only shook her head. “My mommy and daddy said not to trust anyone from the outside. They said they will harm and take advantage of me.”


“Please, we will not hurt you! Just give us a little help and we will be grateful.”


“I don’t want to help people I don’t trust. Go back, I’m busy.”


“What are you even doing? Are you going back to watch TV? When you could be doing more to help others?”


The boy pointed to an alleyway below. “In there are people that huddle together because they don’t have enough clothes and blankets to warm themselves in the cold night.”


He moved his finger near an abandoned building. “Over there, people are scavenging for food in the trash because people don’t have the money to buy--”


“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?” A sudden voice screamed.


Below the hill, there was a small African American boy that was crying, clinging onto an apple that was snatched by a police officer. The child exclaimed, “I don’t mean to steal but I’m so hungry!” 


“Get lost!” the officer yelled. He kicked the boy in the stomach and stormed off. 


The boy above the hill flinched. The girl was completely shocked at such a sight. 


He’s a police officer, why did he do such a thing? The girl thought. 


“You see that?” the boy asked. “By watching that, we are no better than that officer himself because we did nothing to stop it.” 


The girl remained silent. After a few moments, she turned back into the house to find her piggy bank. She was going to use the money to save up for a new dress, but she found her aim to be insignificant. She ran back to the boy, giving him all that she had saved up. 


“Here, I hope this helps your mom,” she said. 


The little boy teared up, “Thank you, thank you so much!” 


He walked unsteadily for a bit and ran back down the hill.


At dinner, the girl asked her parents, “Mommy, Daddy, why don’t you help the people down the hill?” 


“They are bad people. They steal and are violent. People with dark skin are not good people,” they simply replied. 


“But it didn’t look that way when the police officer kicked the little African American boy.” 


“The boy must’ve stole, he must've deserved it,” they replied.


The little girl started to doubt her parents’ words. There was no way that anyone deserved to be treated less than an animal. Even with different color skin and backgrounds, the people still also felt sadness, anger, frustration, and tiredness like she did. 


The girl felt a lump in her throat. She felt suffocated because she did not want to see people like this any longer. But what can she do? 


Suddenly, her phone rang with a new notification. A message from her favorite magazine said, “Do you have a story to tell? Want to have it known? Submit your story today!” 


This was it. This is how she would tell her tale of life beyond her glass house.