13 March, 2008

A Window Story

Disclaimer: The events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to any persons, living or dead, is merely coincidental.

Spring Has Come Again

There once was a young man who lived in a tower. He liked to spend his days sitting at the window, watching all the interesting people shuffling on by below him, engaged in their busy, active lives. The young man was too timid to venture out into that world himself, but he was content to simply sit by and watch, living out his fantasies through imagination, fueled by the images of the people he saw strolling by below.

That is to say, he was content, until one day, when he spied the most beautiful woman in the world returning home by the path that ran within sight of the young man's window - and watchful eye. He was entranced by this sight, and found himself glued to the window day and night, hoping for another glance of this woman. But each time he saw her, it wasn't enough, and he had to see her again, until he found himself wishing, for the first time ever, that he could descend to that world below him, and meet this beautiful woman in person.

Now, this was a very absurd feeling, contrary to what the young man was accustomed to. He denied it at first, not wanting to risk the dangers of leaving the safety of his perch. But regardless, he remained glued to that window, and now, instead of watching all the people flitter by, his gaze was tuned to only one figure, and when she wasn't in view, he was unsatisfied, yet ever vigilant.

Love Doesn't Reign, It Pores

The spring brought heavy rains, and the young man's heart softened. The beautiful woman stopped walking past the young man's window, and as a result he became depressed and began to feel empty. The simple contentment he had once felt being at a distance from the world below, was now gone from him. His sheltered existence provided him no solace. A fire began burning within him - small at first, but ever increasing. Eventually it burned so strongly that the young man could no longer sit idly by.

For the first time, the young man descended those long stairs, and entered the world he had watched for so long. Seeking out the beautiful woman that had entranced him, he found her, and, timid though he was, managed to make her acquaintance. The spring rains erupted into thunder and lightning, and the young man's world was turned upside down by intense emotions he had never experienced before.

The Illusion Of Summer

It was still unclear to the young man, but his passion had blinded him, like the brightest rays of the sun. Where he saw divinity, there was only humanity. Where he saw perfection, there was only mediocrity. Where he saw purity, there was only dogma. But he pursued this bright image of an angel, believing she had descended from even higher than his own perch, not realizing that she had truly come from a bit lower down.

She was no agent of evil, but the devil had planted his seed of darkness, by taking advantage of the woman's beauty, and by corrupting the man's sight. Even now, the coming darkness was shielded from view by the blinding light that the young man thought he saw. It was only a matter of time, however, before the illusion was shattered by reality.

A Hard Fall

The illusion was dispelled, but the devil's seed had bloomed. The young man entered a state of full-blown despair. Everything that had once held meaning became utterly meaningless. The young man retreated back to his lonely tower, and sobbed in the darkness for what was lost, and what he had hoped for, but had never truly gained.

Meanwhile, the princess accompanied the black knight to the grand ball, protected by his shining crest, while the dragon of the deep celebrated his victory over the heart of one vulnerable man.

A Cold, Cold Winter

Years pass, and the young man's heart is still submerged in a thick layer of ice, his world still shrouded in darkness. He doesn't even bother to look out the window any more. These days, his gaze is directed within. Is there any hope for him? Will the spring ever come again?


  1. This falls so perfectly between poetry and history that I'm on the fence about whether to believe the disclaimer. Poignant.