The Boy In The Window.

September 23, 2012
By lorex34 BRONZE, Kalispell, Montana
lorex34 BRONZE, Kalispell, Montana
4 articles 1 photo 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets." -Arthur Miller

The Boy In The Window.
by Eli Brown on Saturday, November 26, 2011 at 11:27pm ·

Hot tears slipped between her eyelids, dripping from the ends of her long, beautiful lashes, falling upon her cheeks, their warmth dripping onto her face. They slid down her jaw, taking her makeup with them, leaving a trail behind, a trail through which her true being shone. Her hands shook as she clutched the frame between her long, brittle fingers, the picture behind the glass hard to make out in the shadow of her dark room. The glass was cracked, and the paper below it crinkled, though the face imprinted on the yellow hued sheet was still able to be seen, the boys smile beaming up at her. Though the paper had faded, his green eyes were still a deep turquoise, his blond locks still a sea of grain. A tear splashed down upon the mirrored surface, sliding down towards the wooden frame, streaking the cracked glass, leaving behind it a trail which joined the ranks of those before it, following a path already determined. Tears began to beat upon the picture as rain against a lit window, the boy staring out into the dark night, safe and warm. He seemed to press his rosy cheek against the cold, smooth glass, rain pattering against the other side, unable to penetrate the barrier. A voice called from somewhere beyond the view of the small pane and the boy seemed to run to it, turning off the light. His staring smile seemed to dim, and, though he still gazed up from the framed portrait, his eyes seem to lose their gleaming sparkle, his smile losing its charm, for he was unreachable, the window separating him from her. Her chest shuddered as a sob shook through her, then another, each coming faster until she was overcome, trembling as tears poured from her eyes, cries filling the room, though no one was near to comfort her. She was alone. The picture fell from between her quivering fingers, smashing against the unforgiving concrete, glass shattering, scattering out across the cold stone floor. She fell to her knee’s, glass piercing her thin skin, blood pouring from the wounds as she grasped the frame, pulling it to her chest. Blood pooled around her small, jerking body, tears mixing with the crimson, forming a stream that rolled across the floor. She held the picture up, the boy face stained with blood, tear drops discoloring the parchment. He was gone. She fell to her side, still clutching the stained photo, glass crushing underneath her weight. Pulling her knees to her chest she continued to shudder, sobs echoing across the gray walls, tears joining the onrushing river. She was alone. So alone.

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