Title: The Window

Assignemt: Start with this title: The Window. Then, using this title, begin writing something. You may write about something true, something made up, or something halfway in-between. Up to you.

His life has always been defined by numbers; rhythms; patterns. The need for order consumes his life from the moment his alarm sounds. Steadfast bristles skim his teeth, while his eyes scan the prim reflection in the mirror. He walks down the street to school at precisely 8:53 a.m., his feet falling into a familiar cadence of thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . Oblivious to everything around him—the golden sun, the gentle breeze, even his schoolmates passing by—the precision is all that matters.

She is awoken not by an alarm, but by the world around her. Letting the hot water melt into her skin, her reflection beckons to her. Who are you, really? it asks. But her carefree eyes delicately dance around the words and a smile illuminates her face. She doesn’t walk to school; she glides, with footsteps not defined by numbers, but by the flowing music in her head. Her eyes, her ears, and her soul absorb the world around her. The wind kisses her face, coaxing her to come play. Skimming the early morning sky with her cobalt eyes, she thinks it so beautiful that God must have painted it himself. She is no longer just a person; she is the air; the sky; the world.

She is everything he wishes he could be. She is free of the chains that tie him to his exactitude. Her eyes see not only what is in front of them, but also what is all around them. To him, she is an escape. To her, he is a dark path that she dare not approach.

Every day since he first laid eyes on her, her being has consumed his thoughts. But he can only break far enough away from his routine to watch her, never to join her. All he can do is stand, his face pressed up against the glass dividing their worlds. Hot breath condensing on the glass, his view becomes increasingly blurred. Soon, his binding ropes drag him away from the impassable window. But he will return; he will always return to view the life he dreams of. But he will never live it.