You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

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jenhamel78
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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby jenhamel78 » Sun Mar 20, 2011 3:51 pm

In a trance, my mind starts racing. Where have I seen Her? Her face is small and round. Her hair, boy-looking short and dark. Her smile reveals buck teeth. Then She starts to talk, but I can't hear Her. What is She saying? I start to rustle the sheets in nervousness. But I thrust my shaky sweaty hands over my legs to keep them quiet. Suddenly, everything around me stops. As I stare into Her eyes, I begin to hear Her every word:
"Remember on Halloween when we tried to eat a donut off a piece of string? Remember the hospital with those men and women in white coats wearing them scary masks? When we were driving and that car came out of nowhere? We could have sworn that Nana saved us that day. College, ahhh, college. The best four years of our lives! How we never wanted it to end. Then, the day came- our wedding day. We married the man of our dreams..... Wait! I'm not through yet! Please tell me more! What about our future?
I tried to blink a few times. I even touched the window. But it was no use. She was gone. I guess I have to do this on my own. After all, She was the past. And I, well I am the future.

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Re: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby rosebud » Sun Mar 20, 2011 7:00 pm

Every night I stare out my bedroom window. It’s been an obsession of mine since childhood. Not sure what exactly I’m searching for in the moonlit shadows, but still my curiosity continues.

One cool night as I gazed out the window enjoying the gentle sound of wind chimes, I sensed an ominous feeling in the air. The full moon was shining brightly, highlighting the white clouds against the dark sky. Looking around the yard below, I saw a small figure about the size of a baby rabbit dashing toward the deck. Unconcerned, I went back to watching television and scooped a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter, another obsession of mine, and settled into bed.

Moments later I heard a scratching sound on the screen window. I got up to investigate. Two dark eyes stared back at me. Looking closer at the odd shape before me I became puzzled. The creature was standing on two thin legs, wearing a black jacket and top hat, white cloves and held a cane over his shoulder. He winked at me through the monocle covering his left eye. He looked like Mr. Peanut. It was Mr. Peanut!

Convinced my brained had been totally fried from eating too many scoops of the crunchy stuff before bed, I pinched myself. Yes I was awake. A sound came from the peanut. Slowly, I inched forward to hear.

“Help me,” the tiny voice said. “Hellllp meeee.” He sounded desperate.

Headlights pulled around the cul-de-sac behind us illuminating the situation. Mr. Peanut was entangled in a spider web. He looked up the web, then back at me. “Help me,” he repeated. A spider was edging closer.

There was no way I could get the screen open in time. I ran to the bathroom in search of something to deter the spider. Grabbing a can of hairspray I aimed and shot at the web. That only angered the spider and increased her descent.

I reached for my lighter and sprayed through the flame.

Success! I fried the spider. My eyes fell to the direction of Mr. Peanut. Suddenly alarmed by the sight on the sill, I realized I’d roasted, not rescued poor Mr. Peanut.

The burning aroma in the cool night’s air reminded me of the spoon on the nightstand. I retuned to bed to finish my peanut butter and watch an old movie.

“Help me, helllp mee,” said the head of a man on the body of a fly. A spider crept toward him, my jaw dropped open, and a dollop of peanut butter fell onto my pajamas.

Looking down I sighed, “Aw nuts.”

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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby kangmandi » Mon Mar 21, 2011 4:55 pm

The night moon hangs in the sky above my window, a large round globe that makes me shudder from its menacing omen. I’ve looked out from the kitchen every night for past five years since the day my husband Alfred died. The wind howls and trees branches scrape against the house. I have no idea why I am here in the kitchen at this time of the night, but it’s a habit that I can’t shake.

My eyes drop from the moon and focus on the gloomy scene outside. The garden is bathed in the moonlight and the wind makes shadows dance. Suddenly, my heart begins to beat faster and I drop the glass of water that I am drinking, its contents spilling across my nightgown and the glass shattering onto the floor.

I see a small face outside, in the bushes. He notices that I see him and for a moment, my heart seems to stop. He – is it a he? – makes his way to my window, where he props himself up on the outside sill and his bright eyes look at me.

The phone beside the sink jars its terrifying croon, and my hand shakes as I stare at it. Is he trying to contact me? No, no, I didn’t see a phone in his hand. Sweat begins to form at my hairline. On the fourth ring, I answer.

“He … llo?” I answer tentatively. Somehow, I still think that this little man must be trying to contact me.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

“Andy, thank goodness you called. Please, you’ve got to help me! Someone is outside my window!”

“What does he look like?”

“An alien, yes, yes, he is an alien. He must be. Please, get over here quick.”

“Mom, there are no aliens.”

“Yes, he is there! I swear it.” I look up at the window again, afraid to see him, but I have to convince Andy that he is there. Andy must believe me if I still see him.

“Oh, God, Andy, he is gone from the window. The roof, he must be on the roof. Please, you’ve got to help me.”

“Mom,” Andy says, and his voice drops to a gentle whisper, “I’m just calling to make sure that you take your medicine.”

“My medicine?”

“Yes, it’s right underneath the phone.” I look, and I see. A small brown bottle is there, along with a note.

The note reads, “Mom, there are no aliens. Take your medicine at night with a glass of water.”

“Medicine?” I ask.

“Mom, you have to take your Abilify. The doctor said so. The aliens aren’t real.”

“But I saw him!”

“I know you did, Mom. But he isn’t real. Please take your medicine. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Love you, Mom.” Andy hangs up. Such a good boy, checking on his mother. Yes, yes, I must take my medicine. The doctor says that I imagine things.

I take another glass out of the drying rack and pour myself a glass of water. I look up at the moon and wonder if Alfred is watching me, as I wipe the water from my nightgown.

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Re: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby Trissa » Mon Mar 21, 2011 7:22 pm

Peace and quiet. That was all I wanted. I was tired of arguing with my husband about when the last time was that the stairs had been vacuumed. Tired of listening to our two teen-age kids fight about who took the last piece of cake from the fridge. So...I calmly packed my suitcase, threw it into the back of my old Toyota, and announced I was taking a break. I was taking the weekend off...alone. I would return Monday morning to see who survived.

My husband's head drooped. "Where are you going?"

The kids stopped mid-scream. "Guess we order pizza tonight."

I turned to face my loving family as I stood at the threshold. "In answer to your question," I replied. "I'm going to my Uncle Dewey's cabin at Lake Wannabee. He has offered it to us many times, and I'm ready to take him up on it."

Two hours later and one quick stop at Uncle Dewey's house for a key -- I pulled up the gravel drive leading to the cabin. It wasn't much to look at: a small two bedroom place with a bathroom the size of a closet. But it was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. The Milky Way hung like a gauzy ribbon overhead, and the moon was a white marble. I went straight to the stone fireplace and began building a cozy fire for one.

Darkness in the woods is much different than darkness in the city. Leaving the lights off, I wandered to the window overlooking the lake. I could hear the trees sighing in the wind. A branch scraped against the side of the cabin. I got goosebumps thinking of old campfire stories about things with claws trying to get in. I stepped closer to the window to see if I could locate the offending noise. Instead, in the corner of the window I found two glowing eyes staring back at me.

Jumping back in the darkened room, I tripped over a rag rug. The cabin was totally dark as my cozy fire had fizzled. Looking back at the window, I now saw two pairs of glowing eyes! I scrambled to my feet trying to find the fire poker in the dark. Looking back at the window, the eyes had disappeared. Now I heard scraping sounds above me. The sounds traveled the length of the roof. They stopped suddenly in the area near the fireplace.

Stumbling across the cabin floor, I made it to Uncle Dewey's prize possession; a table lamp made from deer antlers. I turned to face the cold, gaping hole where I had tried to make a fire. THUD! Something fell onto the unlit logs. THUD! A second object. BANG! The two objects shook themselves and started running pell mell around the room. Raccoons! By the time I realized what my intruders were, they had already trashed several breakable objects on the fireplace mantle and they were headed for the kitchen.

It didn't take me long to load up my trusty old Toy-car one more time. I called Uncle Dewey to let him know I had had enough peace and quiet for one night. I left the front door open in case the raccoons couldn't make it back up the chimney. I made the trip back home in under two hours...and that was even after making a stop at Pagliai's Pizzeria.

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Re: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby mvg » Mon Mar 21, 2011 8:27 pm

I tenderly cradled the gun in my lap while seated back in my taupe leather recliner. The black polymer frame of the pistol felt slightly cold to the touch, but paled in comparison to the chill in my heart. I caressed the stippled grip with my left thumb while gently stroking the smooth barrel with my right, mimicking the motion of wipers removing rainwater from a vehicle’s windshield, or fingers cleansing forthcoming sin. The Glock’s double-stack magazine supported 10 rounds, but I would need only one.

The room was dark, but not completely absent of light. To my right, a red and white Santa Clause-figured nightlight’s luminescence draped the lower half of the sage painted wall, below the large white bay window. The six-paned bay window was festooned in silver and bronze Christmas garland; Christmastime, the most wonderful time of the year.

The Christmas tree was staged in the far right corner, just left of the bay window. It was decorated with countless small, unlit white-stringed lights –I preferred the multi-colored, but she thought white was elegant– silver and bronze garland, various hanging ornaments and an angel clothed in a white robe, wings fully extended at its peak. The garnishment brought no grace to my being, no solace to my soul.

It had been two weeks since my wife’s and stillborn…unborn…baby daughter’s passing. My wife, Hayley, and I were married for two years, in love for five. Our daughter, Ellen, will never know my love for her, but love her unequivocally, I did. The doctor tried to explain to me the complications which had occurred during labor, but what he didn’t understand was that the situation was inexplicable and I inconsolable. Inexplicable that God would allow for such incomprehensible torment – we had our whole lives in front of us, we had big plans! So goes the saying, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

No more pain. No more torment. No…more...

I grasped the Glock from my lap with my left hand, wrapping my ring finger and pinky confidently around the grip while surrounding the other side with my thumb. My remaining fingers nestled firmly against the trigger. I raised the gun and pressed the barrel square against my left temple, THROBBING left temple. The pulsating was not caused by reticence, but relief. I possessed no anxiety, only anticipation. My palms were not shaking, no sweat from nerves, just a bit moist from cradling the gun. My fingers started to squeeze the trigger, still calm…still collected.

As I began to close my eyes something to my right flank caught my attention, distracting my peripheral. Still seated, I vigorously swung my torso to the right aiming the Glock toward the bay window. For the first time that evening, fear began to fill my defeated consciousness and sweat occupied my pores. My pose no longer secure in manner, but trembling in horror.

At first glance, directly across, I noticed a small face in the first pane of the dark bay window, eyes bright from the lighted Santa Clause nightlight below; a face quite foreign, yet so familiar. I thought it to be motionless, almost expressionless, but stinging sweat had infiltrated my eyes, blurring my vision. With strengthless legs I rose, and with much trepidation, I advanced toward the visage. As I drew nearer, the face seemed to have grown larger - complexion pale, almost translucent, and eyes dark and drawn, almost lifeless.

As I reached the window, I pressed my open right hand against the glass gently cupping its cheek. I know this face, or, I had known this face. Its features portrayed my unborn daughter’s. The impression cast upon me, my wife’s. The face was…me. In an instant my mind flooded with a stream of wonderful and warming memories, as if the walls of an emotional dam came crashing down. Memories of when Hayley and I first met. Memories of our passionate first kiss, our wedding night and the overwhelming joy we lived the night we discovered she was pregnant. Just at that that moment, my entire body went numb. My head began to pound and my vision tunneled, my perception disappearing and reappearing in intervals like someone switching slides on a projector. The air was then sucked out of my lungs by an imperceptible vacuum and I coughed out what felt like my last breath. Inhaling, but my windpipe narrowed to a close. The gun dropped to the floor, followed by my body.

Armstrong K.
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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby Armstrong K. » Tue Mar 22, 2011 9:34 am

      Holding my breath, I listen for a sign that he’s awake. No bedsprings whine, no sighs or grumbles. I toss aside the book I haven’t been reading anyway and get out of bed. I turn out the light before opening my door for fear of disturbing him. Dear God, please let me have a little time to myself free from his terrors, his rage, his despair…him. My heart skips a beat as I start to pass his door. It’s open. I freeze, but he’s asleep, breathing steadily, arms cast wide, the coiled sheet snaked around his lower half. Muted light reflects off the naked circle on the crown of his head where he’s pulled out his hair. It gives him the tonsured look of a medieval monastic. More Friar Tuck than St. Francis, with the extra weight the meds have packed on. Even in sleep his brows strive to meet, the furrow between them adding to the illusion of age. When he was a baby, he used to laugh in his sleep sometimes. When was the last time he laughed?
      In the kitchen, I put on the kettle for tea, reminding myself to catch it before it whistles. As the water heats, I start my stations. I proceed from window to window checking for…what? The clue I missed? Reassurance? Or destruction, a giant sinkhole, proving it’s not just me—my family—but the whole world crumbling away? Whatever I’m seeking, I don’t find it. As I pull aside the curtain on the back door window I finger the tiny seashells hot-glued on the ribbon trim. Was there really a time when I cared enough to do that? I yank the curtain aside and my heart slams against my ribcage. Not a foot away, a small face with bright eyes peers back at me. As I catch my breath, I take her in. An elderly woman, gnarled fingers picking absently at the cuffs of her bathrobe, her head cocked, birdlike.
      “Can I help you?” I ask as I open the door.
      “She gave me three dollars! Can you believe it?” the little woman crows as she dances into the room. “Her husband came home from the war and they paid me the money from before plus another dollar! And, Mama, you should have seen him with the baby. They look just like each other.”
      Alzheimers? I wonder. Some kind of dementia, anyway. I note the medic alert bracelet. Will it have identification information on it? There’s a nursing home around the corner, closer if you cut through backyards. Maybe she’s wandered from there. Should I call the nursing home or the police?
      “Oh, no!” she cries, stricken. “Now I’ve made you sad. I’m sorry, Mama. I know it’s hard to hear about other boys coming home.”
      Before I can think of a response, we’re both startled by the shrilling kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?” I ask, my own mother’s response to any crisis.
      “I wish it was Jimmy too,” she says, crumpling into a chair at the kitchen table. I think she is weeping. “I think I still believe he’s coming home.” Now tears are clearly spilling from the brown-black button eyes down crepe-paper cheeks. I put teabags in two cups. “I wish I wrote him more letters. I wish I’d finished knitting those socks for him. I wish he never went to the Navy,” she sobs.
I pour boiling water into the cups and realize she has fallen silent. I turn to find her face radiant. “Jimmy!” she whispers in awe. Then she screams it, crying and laughing, “Jimmy! You’re here! Jimmy!” I look from her jubilant face to where my son stands in the kitchen doorway, blinking, eyebrows still furrowed. The chair is overturned as she makes her way to him. She clasps his face in bird-claw hands. “They said you were dead! They said a U-boat sank your ship. They said you were dead!” she chokes through tears and laughter and kisses. I am paralyzed.
     Cautiously, my son lifts a trembling hand to pat the dowager’s hump that barely reaches his chest. “It’s okay,” he croons, “I’m here.”
     “But what happened?” she demands. “How did you get here?”
     “I floated on the wreckage,” he says, “and another boat picked me up.”
     She turns to me. “Mama, Jimmy’s home! Hug him!” And now my awkward arms wrap around the two of them, my own body resonating with her sobs and laughter. Or his. Or mine.

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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby shoofly » Sat Mar 26, 2011 3:59 pm

Our small Tennessee farmhouse sat in the the middle of clearing off a dirt road so far from another neighbor I could out holler the 6:00 train without bothering no one; and for a eight year old I could yell pretty loud. The lack of city lights allowed the black night sky to reveal thousands of diamonds twinkling in the sky every night. I would sit at my bedroom window after lights out, listening to daddy yell the self esteem out of momma and wish upon the shooting stars in the sky. My legs would be pulled up under my cotton nightgown, keeping alert for any sign of movement in the night sky.

It was on one of those summer nights not to long ago that I snuck out from the warmth of the heavy quilt on my bed and took my place near the window. Before I was able to look up to the heavens, a pair of beady eyes met mine and I had to cover my own mouth to stop myself from a scream that would have earned me a lashing for being up so late. By the time I registered what I had seen, he was gone.

The next night I left nothing to chance. I arrived at my perch prepared with some cornbread I had smuggled from the dinner table. I propped my window open just a crack and left little yellow crumbs on the paint cracked sill hoping to lure my visitor back. When he finally arrived I got that same giddy feeling I get when I hear the ice cream truck make his way to our area. With broad circles around his eyes and a pointy snout, my raccoon friend took my offering and quickly departed.

Over the subsequent nights I treated him to meatloaf, buttermilk biscuits and, his favorite, pork chops with apple butter. He gave me his friendship. We spent evenings talking long into the night over those meals and he always had so much good advice like knowing daddy couldn’t help losing the crops this year and that momma could use a smile or two from me instead of the sass I usually gave her. He told me how pretty my room was and really liked the drawings I made that no one else seemed to notice. He understood me like no one else and even started to bring his friends around.

A couple nights ago daddy found out about my secret meetings with my new friend. He set up traps and scolded me something fierce. I thought he would be most upset with my staying up late, but he seemed more concerned with my having a friend. The drink in him must have been jealous of my happiness. Momma warned me about his nature when he coated his insides with that poison. Nothing makes sense with him then. Tonight I’ll just lay low and get some sleep, but soon I’ll get back to looking out my window at the big world out there and wait for someone else to make their way to my little window.

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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby purplefaeire » Sun Mar 27, 2011 6:21 pm

The soulless always are on the inside looking out, with the souls detatched on the outside looking in. sometimes this is an existentialism of a soul spliced into 47 people, each a different person in the same body. If we could look at our soul, it would be on the outside of a window looking in, in the icy darkness of a march wind. A little lost soul, like a wood nymph, stares bright eyes brimming with the depths of hell into a window at its body. No amount of rosaries can reattach it.

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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby missycamp » Fri Apr 01, 2011 3:37 pm

The starless, moonless, obsidian night is silent. I peer out my bedroom window, wondering once again what may lie unseen out there.

Then, without warning, a figure appears not ten feet from my window. The figure is diminutive and slight, with eyes that glow alabaster like a premium opal. I am struck with trepidation and alarm, as well as my my natural curiosity. Reluctantly, despite my officiousness, I decide to investigate the occurrence. Full of fear of the unknown, but more excited by my inquisitive, investigative nature, I choose to disregard my misgivings and go to probe the incident. Therefore (still timorous), I grab my flashlight and my brother's baseball bat, and head out.

Once outside, as near the small figure as I dare to get, I shine my flashlight at her and raise my brother's bat, just in case. However, I can now clearly see that the presence before me is a child, around seven—but I quickly realize this is no ordinary child. She appears translucent, and my flashlight shines right through her to illuminate the trees some distance behind her.

In shock, awe, and fear, I stand there both motionless and speechless, instinctively lowering the bat, just taking in the reality of the sight.

It becomes quickly clear to me that no matter who or what she actually is, she is not happy. She bows her head to inspect her bare feet, her shoulders slump, and she places her little arms across her torso as if she were cold.

Then she speaks. It is a quiet, sad tone, but I can nonetheless hear her.

“I'm sorry to bother you...I promise, I mean you no harm,” she states meekly.

I stammer as I reply, both feeling sorry for this unhappy entity , yet still afraid.

“D-d-don't worry about it...it-it-it's ok. If I may ask, wh-what h-h-happend to you? Why are you here?”

She unfolds her arms and lifts her head to face me, yet her features still indicate malcontent. She speaks softly, but a bit louder than before.

“I-I died here...” she utters, turning her melancholy gaze toward my house. Then she turns her head back to face me. “My mother drowned me in the bathtub...and I cannot move on without your help.” She looks at me imploringly with her shiny, opal-esque eyes.

Suddenly, my compassion for this spirit overrules my fear of her.


“Oh...my...God. I am sooo sorry...what can I do to help?”

“I am bound to this place...the place of my death...in order to move on, I need for you to do me a favor...”

Her tone is desperate and somber, as is her glowing yet visibly bereaved eyes. It pulls at my heartstrings—already astir, but to a greater extent now.

“Wh-wh-what can I do? I'm just a mortal, after all...not a soul like you...”

“Would you please write to my mom? I know I need to tell her how I feel about what she did...”

Without hesitation, I promptly agree. She then smiles a downcast half-grin at me...then proceeds to give me both the contact information of her mother, and what she wishes to convey to her. I immediately memorize it all—and as I do so, the young female vanishes.

The moment I return to my abode, I set pen to paper, telling the girl's mother what her daughter had told me to tell her. I then proceed to address and stamp the envelope I placed the letter in, being careful to leave out the return address and my name.

For three days, I anxiously anticipated the unnamed and no-longer-living youth's re-appearance, to no avail.

After those three days, however, she appears outside my window yet again.

I expeditiously go out to meet her, a smile on my face, having known what I had done for her. Yet before I could speak, the child puts her hand up to silence me. She smiles in contentment at me, and speaks with confidence.

“Thank you so much. My soul is at rest now, and I can move on. I'm sorry, but I must leave you now...”

My smile diminishes at this news, but expecting this might happen, I had prepared myself for it.

“It's okay. You got the last word, and I'm certain that in the end she shall pay for her cruel act. Please, don't think twice about it...just go to your better place and find peace.”

Though I hoped I would, I never saw her again.

serendipity
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RE: You See a Face Through Your Dark Window - 3/15

Postby serendipity » Tue Apr 12, 2011 6:10 pm

-This is my first post! Feel free to criticize...

Windows at night terrify me, you can't see out, but others can see in. Who knows what's out there? Watching your every move, violating your security with their unwarranted gazes, some crazy who belongs in an institution.
Yet another part of me longs to see through the fog my fear has supplied, yearns to actually see what is out there, what has the courage and bravery to prowl the night-the umph i lack. These sides warr with eachother inside me, conflicting the other and swirling my thoughts about like whipped cream. This was one night where i was gazing out my bedroom window, defiantly shoving my fear down and out of sight. I imagined leprachauns and mystical beings frolicking about in the hedges.
Of course, this was exactly why i was homeschooled, i thought bitterly. My imagination always got the best of me, always got in the way, always betrayed me as a fool. Just as i was rolling away from the window in my computer chair, something outside caught my eye.
Cautiously i peered out the window, almost yelping when i saw the tiny, thumb-sized being with wings casually leaning against the window sill and meeting my surprised gaze with a curious smirk. He had dark hair that stuck up in all directions, green and gold flecked eyes that had practically no pupil, and iridescent wings that now anxiously fluttered behind him, his feet rising off the ground slowly. I watched as he looked me up and down, as if checking to see that i was in the right order, his microscopic eyes flickering over my long black hair, my fleece pajamas, and cow slippers. I, was rightfully shocked.
But here was my chance, my oppurtunity to overcome my foolish fear. Surprising myself, I opened the window. In the fairie a-floated, hands clasped behind his pencil-thin back as he surveyed the room like a drill sargeant. "Alright, let's go human." He voice was wind chimes in my ears, and his eyes entranced me. "Wha-what?" I stuttered, blinking dazedly, trying to focus. He sighed, "Come along, I'm here to whisk you away to the fairie realm, where you can dance away eternity beautiful and young. You can live as a fairie, in our world of secret and beauty, song and mischief." And his eyes certainly contained a heavy dose of mischief. Too bad, I thought wistfully, there was no way i could go with him.
I thought of my family, who, despite it all, stuck with me through-well, we're still sticking through it actually. So i said farewell to a shell-shocked fairy and ran to the kitchen, bursting to my parents about the fairie that had made a visit to my window, willing to sweep me off my feet into his world.
Of course they didn't beleive me, they brushed me off like a bug, like a crumb on their expensive clothing, and as i left the room, defeated and rejected, i heard something about 'medication' and getting me 'tested' again. Great. Just great. All this, and i still have no idea what other wonders exist beyond my panes of glass, beyond my little bubble of protection; no clue as to what would have happened had i traveled with that fairie and his enticing offer to another world, another time, another life. It was the not knowing that killed me.

-Serendipity

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