A young man stood silently in the kitchen, cleaning up from lunch. Scattered on the bench were the remaining few dishes. One hand lay limp at his side, the other clutched a small glass jar. He stared out the window completely motionless, as if transfixed. His lips set in a grim, straight line, and his eyes bore into the horizon like lasers.

Several minutes he remained like this, clearly some kind of storm raging inside his head. Ten people over the past forty-eight hours had asked him on separate occasions if he was ok immediately on sight. A networks of tiny streams of blood had now formed on his arm, but he didn't notice. A small pool had begun to form at his feet. Someone yelled his name, and he was suddenly brought back. The dripping blood caught his eye, drawing his gaze. His head tilted slightly down, but otherwise he still didn't move, watching the blood for several seconds.

Tracing the stream back to its source, he saw the remnants of the 3mm walled glass jar in his hand, crushed like paper. The man picked the shards of glass from his hand, and washed both in the nearby sink. He then wrapped his hand in a handkerchief, and continued with his work, slightly disturbed by the incident. Upon further investigation he determined the necessary force to break the jar to be greater than his wrist was capable of producing, and became further disturbed. He later posted photos of the jar on the Interwebs, and the pieces of it remain to this day in a sealed container as a reminder of why doing things when emotionally distressed is a bad idea.

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