The glass escaped quite easily to the floor whereupon it shattered into pieces, which shot themselves across the room. Little good it did. With hardly the twitch of his hand, the pieces reformed themselves into a glass and it jumped up into his waiting grasp.
           How many times had he seen it happen? How many times had some object or other attempted to end it all rather than continue its existence as is? Too many.
           But they just didn't learn did they -- every time they broke, he fixed them -- and they proceeded to break again. Didn't they understand?
           Hundreds, no thousands of times they broke and every time he fixed them good as new -- or rather, he unbroke them: they are as they were. Not good as new -- new again.
           And as the glass once again slipped from his hand, he let it go. When it shattered, he let the pieces scatter. Then he reached in the drawer and pulled out the super glue.
           It was time to fix things.