The window is a single pane

The window is a single pane.

by Abbie Payne

It is old but not attractively so and standing in front of it has the same effect as standing in front of an open refrigerator. As the harsh rays of nuclear fusion pierce the passive glass a single shadow begins its leisurely ascent, straining with all it’s capacity to touch the stars. The possessor of this soulless outline situates themselves in the damp, tragic looking corner of the room furthest away from the hopeful window to the outside world.

Since the exile began the once frilly curtains at the window are thick with, what appears to be, over a decade of grime. The filtered light that fights to get through fails to reflect the once cheerfully yellow carpet that now resembles more closely a forest floor in colour and texture. The vintage red wallpaper, ridden with decay, has started peeling off the wall and now hangs like earring on a dead woman’s ears.

After being locked away for countless cycles of moon and sun the longing to smell the flowers and dance among the trees has become immense. The old window dampens the warming light of nuclear fusion and traps the smell of chemically induced sanitizer,  slowly poisoning the mind into submission. At the end of the day the risk is too great to dare to set foot on the dazzling grass, swaying to the song of the wind.

Another dreary day passes as darkness engulfs the once climbing shadows. As the sun takes her final breaths of light the sky befalls her nightly transformation. As this occurs the clear canvas that is the window is painted a deep blue and sprinkled with stars and countless new worlds all of which reflect the promise of freedom and light in darkness.

The previously pessimistic owner of a shadow now feels a weight lifted off their shoulders as if a particularly heavy child has just lept of their shoulders after a satisfying piggy back ride. With a final feeling of relief they descend into a dream with too many lights to count dancing on an ocean too vast to see.

As dawn begins to ascend to her golden throne, glorious rays of pure hope illuminate an empty chair situated in front of an old window. The previous owner of a shadow now dances outside to the song of the wind and the beat of the trees.

Never to be locked away again.