The Window - Short Story

The window was wiped clean this time, not even the stroke of the damp cloth that had skimmed its surface was visible. The light shone in through it without any bents or distortion. Just straight in like it always does.

Beyond the window, the grass danced along to the rhythm of the wind. The dew on the grass made it seemed as if they naturally produced glitter, and the lake that ran alongside it, ebbed flawlessly. The fish jumped in and out of the water as if they danced along with the grass. In the distance, an owl, or maybe just a white bird, stares in through the window, I can’t really tell.

As I sat down at my desk, I could feel my heart growing louder, even though, it barely moved. My thoughts were racing in my head, I could hardly contain myself. I sit here for what seems ever, yet, it ends before the fish can jump back out to dance.

It all happens so quick, that I forget that it’s happened before: I walk in, take the pills, and sit down as I look out the window, the fish jump, the grass dances, the bird watches.

Waiting.

Sometimes, seldom to be honest, the window seems to be cracking. It seems dirty and as I inch closer to the chair, sometimes, I can hear a whisper, yet the wind doesn’t play, because it can break it. The cloth is on the outside. Only when the mirror is dirty, do I see the cloth, but I can’t clean it. I don’t want to shatter the window. I like it here.

It’s peaceful.