Windows

The Windows

6/4/2009

Word Count: 420

         The rain gently hit against the strong windows of the rundown house. The house, dressed with elegant shutters that adorned the powerful glass planes, had the ribbons of rag wrapped around its bulky exterior. It demeanor was horrid; bricks coated with a dark, murky hue and its roof just mere shingles compared to the grand glass impediments which were embellished like pin on the house’s other shell. The house was a small cozy domain, with a square form and rectangular chimney, which had passed away from the excess of soot strangling its airways.

         Maybe, sometime in the rear end of the house’s history, it was a grandiose palace; with a beautiful coat that shimmered with the sun and sparkled in the stars. The rings of laughter could have existed within the lush confines, complete with a set of imported furniture & abstract paintings, glossed and perfected. The paints could have been mounted simply on the tan wall, with no incision being relented on its flawless exterior. The house could have attracted the light and made it dance around the house, so every nook and corner would have been illuminated and no place left untouched by the Aphrodite of the luminous light. The house could have been placed perfectly on a lush plane of grass of which’s blades don’t cut; but tickle gently against ones bare skin to seduce one into playing in the glorious field, or perhaps slumbering while the sun watched over the serene area. Rare roses and other fantastic flora could have blossomed under the soft mattress of soil. The house could have been dressed beautifully, with a glittering robe embellished with gorgeous patterns and flowery accessories. The house could have put other to shame.

         But step back into the soggy marsh, abundant with dark, venomous creatures and corpse of the unidentifiable flora, one would see the house not through its window; but through the real eye of man. One would see the true form of this gothic manor, stripped down to bare shame. This true form was freakishly born by the relentless apathy given to the house, which once could have dazzled the eyes of so many with such eloquence and mystifying beauty. The breath of the world would have stopped simply by the gaze of the houses clean and powerful windows; experienced and aged, yet able to withstand the strengthening force of the malicious rain.

         This house, robbed of all potential, can only be revived by traversing far enough to gaze through the clear, clean windows.