Through Clouded Glass

Torn

I stood looking out my bedroom window for the last time.

I could only feel numb at this point.

This window used to be my only comfort after I woke up from the terrors that consumed me in the pitch black nights. To be able to watch the outside world sleeping so peacefully when I could not comforted me in ways you could never imagine. The moon and the twinkling stars would sing sweet, echoing lullabies to my panicked heart through the clear glass. The night, no matter what terrors it would bring, quickly became my only friend in my desperate times of need. I dare not tell anyone of what I endure, the ghosts that haunt me and the thoughts that drive me far beyond the edge. When the night and its stars, along with the glowing moon shining high above, are the only companions to which you can open up, their solace become a welcome comfort in all of your torture. For in every dark eve, while I stare out a clear window, I will smile with the knowledge that my old friends and the window that I stood in front of today for the thousandth time was the only thing separating me from the stars I longed to wander beneath or to even become one day. 

I stared up into the gray sky, running my hand along the smooth wooden frame encasing the glass. Why does it always seem that whenever your life is changing in ways that you could never imagine, the earth seems to stop? The world simply ceases its turning and time quits continuing. Yet you are the only thing changing. And the world will never change with you.

It was a conclusion I had come to a long time ago.

My fingers stopped when I felt the grain of the wood give way to what felt like tiny cracks, a minuscule canyon carved deep into the heart of the soft pine. My eyes soon began to follow my fingers as they traced the carving, almost as if it was ingrained in my memory just like it was in the wood. Suddenly, the indentations came into focus and I could see every intricate detail.

The carving was of a beautifully detailed flower, and I would know that bloom anywhere.

It was my drawing.

My iris.

Recollections of distant memories flashed through my mind, in and out like an old film reel. It was raining outside. A wild storm. I was sitting with my head against the sill, pale skin reflecting the glittering droplets of water,  shadowy waves cascading down my back. I was using the pocketknife that I had stolen from a kid named Luke a while back. Which I was intending to return. . . eventually. I tactfully planned every line, every detail, before I dared to carve it into the soft wood. I had done the flower by memory, not even recognizing how insanely progressed my art skills had become. I had never known myself to be an artist really. Surprise.

I remembered not wanting to just carve my name. That was too straight forward, and in my opinion, not personal enough. The wood deserved a heartfelt piece of art, a permanent memory of me to keep in its heart forever. It's not as though I was really planning on defacing property that was not mine. . .okay, maybe I was. BUT. . .but. . . considering that I had quite possibly been the orphanage's longest resident, I was just as much a part of it as it was of me. Selfish? Maybe. Meaningful? I'd like to think so.

As I reached to trace the flower one last time, I felt a light touch brush against my arm, sending shivers up my spine. At first, I thought it to be just a breeze drifting through a small gap near the window. Then, I heard something. The words were barely there, but I could feel their presence against my neck, burning just beneath my ear. They weren't even a whisper. Each syllable was more like a breath, chilled yet delicate, careful yet poignant. I felt the essence in the air intertwine between my fingers, so cold and yet so very alive. My skin came to life, electric and tingling with adrenaline as I felt the distinct, gentle graze of a hand tracing my palm. It had to be just the wind. I knew it. But it felt so very real. The steady thrum of a heartbeat rang in my ear, creating the pulse of a melody with the raindrops and thunder booming outside. I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone. I wanted, desperately, to believe that there was someone here with me. Was it all in my imagination?