The window

Children rode their bikes through the street, laughing and playing, not a care in the world. Until they come to a stop at the large brick house. Not much is known about the owners who moved in a few months ago. They know that it was a young couple that moved in and that the man leaves the house once a day and comes back a few hours later. But the real mystery is the young woman, who sits on a rocking chair in the second-storey window.

Day after day, night after night rocking back and forth with a glass in her hand. Like a sunrise or the sunset it's a constant that has yet to change.

Many stories have been circulated by children and gossips of the neighbourhood.

"I heard she's a writer and she sits in that window watching everyone so she can come up with new stories." One young girl said to the boy parked next to her.

"Nah Johnny said she's a witch and she sits there watching everyone so she can find her next victim." Said the young boy with a puffed up chest.

"Oh please Johnny is just pulling your leg there's no such thing as witches." Said the young girl. Laughing at the idiocy of her brothers words.

"Whose a witch?" Questioned their father, as he came up behind them.

"The woman in the window! Johnny said..." started the boy.

"Now Jonah you know that Johnny can be rather creative when it comes to what he tells you. Come on it's not nice to stare." Scolded their father as he ushered them back to their house.

Little did they know. The reality was a much sadder story, then any neighbourhood gossip or creative young child could come up with.

No the story of the woman in the window was one of great pain and even greater sadness.

Minutes, Hours, Days... they all blended together as her mind rested in the darkness of a void, that had invaded her life like a cancer. She barely even noticed when the light of the sun that had shone through the window, had turned to water making patterns that otherwise would have fascinated her. Her eyes stared unfocused, vaguely aware of the rain falling on the metal roof, it's beating rhythm matching that of her now broken heart.

Her mind was void, her body fatigued as she sat back into the rocking chair amongst the darkness, that consumed the room and felt as if it was beginning to consume her. But she couldn't bring herself to care. As she lifted a glass of whiskey to her lips and felt as the amber liquid burned her throat as she drank it, she could feel the heated gaze of her husband staring at her from across the room, each time he stopped by to check on what was left of his wife but she couldn't bring herself to look up at him, let alone speak to him.

She began to rock back and forth, but as quickly as she started she stopped. As a sudden sadness encased her heart, as she remembered the chairs true purpose.

'My Baby, my baby, my baby!' Was all that ran through her mind as if it was a record caught in a loop. The darkness of the room was no comparison to the pitch black that encased her soul. Each breath; felt like knives, each movement of her body felt as if a thousand weights were hooked to each muscle, so she refused to move, except to lift her glass.

She couldn't bring herself to look around the rest of the room because every time she tried, imagined images invaded her mind like a plague, ones of happiness and love, light and hope. She would see her handsome husband playing with the young girl, she'd see a little girl who loved to paint, who played with animals.

She saw her daughters high school graduation, acceptance into university, long discussions on the phone about the cutest guys on campus, her wedding day as her father walks her down the aisle and the grandchildren she longed to meet.

But against her will each fantasised memory, each wish slowly descended into darkness, no matter how she reached out to it, no matter how she longed for it to be real, each scene became her nightmare. One she feels she'll never wake up from.

Because she's gone and there's nothing that can bring her back.