Glass is a short story.

Three people:

One gets stabbed.

One stabs.

One watches.

Extract from Glass:

If it didn’t begin in school, it at least began near school. That was as much as could be said about the start. A little more is known about the middle, thanks to the statements that the police took, but starts – no one notices the beginnings of a thing. Beginnings can only be seen later, looking back.

Even so, it must have started earlier than when two students walked up a hill towards the woods. By then it, whatever it was, had already begun.

This was one of the mildew days typical to late autumn in Britain. Sixth formers had taken down the rugby posts, which now marked elongated helicopter landing pads on the turf. Puddled by a corner spot, football nets waited to be pinned. Once hung, the old tears would be visible, puckering like an open mesh bag of clementines.