Window

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


about a girl with depression that almost makes a mistake.

Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Window

 

She thought about how beautiful the starry night sky was, how the wind felt in her hair. Hands gripping the sharp edges of a window in her glass castle. Clean air sifts through her lungs; deep breath in, deep breath out. High above the city where the sadness can’t reach and the pain wouldn’t dare to climb. Thoughts swarm in her brain then travel down to her heart, turning it to fire, burning her down. She thinks about all the things she’s done in her life, none of them very significant, but it was still her life. Thinking about all her struggles, she can’t help but think “people have it way worse than me, what is my problem.” She feels – everyday - that she doesn’t have a right to feel pain when others feel worse pain for worse reasons. What does she have to feel sad for? What right does she have to complain? So, she doesn’t. keep it in a box, bury it deep down and throw away the key. No one wants to hear about how sad you are, no one cares. Looking down at the people below, walking and living their lives, you hear no complaints from this high up. Sick and tired of being tortured by her own mind, killing her own heart. Her hands clench tighter on the window edge, feeling the sharp pain of the glass cutting into her palm and being relieved that “at least it doesn’t hurt on the inside.” Hot tears run down her cheeks, much to her dismay. She wants to scream and cry and to stop feeling like she might die from sadness. The window stood open in her hands and all she had to do was jump. She imagined what the air would feel like rushing up to her, how she would spread her arms open to accept the ground below with loving arms. She’d simply been strong too long, couldn’t handle much more. Much more, meaning that her strength wasn’t all gone. Yet. With tears still slipping from her blue eyes, she backs away from the window and latches the lock. Regret seeping in for what she was about to do. How could she do that when others struggled worse and made it through? What if she made it through? So, she crawled back to bed and watched the sky’s colors change from night to day. Hearing the world around her move on, just as she would. Every day now she approaches that same window, heated fingers on cool glass, and says “not today.”


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