The Window

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The room was dry, dark, and oddly drafty. It held artifacts and antiques of shapes and sizes that hinted at a past of artisans and historians. The smooth, intricate patterns were marvelous to behold, but she dared not show them to anyone besides her husband. They would be punished severely if anyone in their community found out they had even a small collection of antiques, let alone one this size.

Antiques from before the technological era had been banned generations ago, though the reason behind this rule had long been forgotten. He, Edgar, had inherited the home from his geriatric friend. They kept their circle of friends separate and she didn’t get out much, so the inheritance came as a surprise to her, though a welcome one. Their previous dwelling was smaller than this one and worse for wear. She routinely had to clean the mold from the walls and treat their plants for root rot with a vinegar and water mixture. This new dwelling, though older in its architectural style, was built to better specifications. The floorplans of the house were too tattered and faded to read, so they decided to take measurements of each room manually before bringing their belongings inside. After drawing up a new floor plan, it became apparent that some space in the home was unaccounted for. Edgar was about to measure the rooms again when he felt a draft coming out of one of the garden panels. After sliding aside the panel, they discovered the hidden room behind the vertical garden. It was not uncommon to have a space behind the garden to help prevent mold from weakening the structure of the house, but to have an entire room furnished with the forbidden was another thing entirely.

Something felt off about the room at first, but she had taken a liking to one particular artifact. It stood upright in the middle of the room. At first she thought it was an old shoe rack with some pieces missing. But then she doffed the cloth that covered it and found something else entirely. The ornate wooden trim delicately held the smooth surface of unmistakable glass. She peered into it and saw herself and more. Visions of an apparent past swelled in her mind’s eye. Things were better then, it seemed. People had the freedom to roam anywhere they pleased. There was no responsibility other than the ones chosen for oneself. In her current self, she saw someone devoid of purpose aside from that which was demanded from her. She lived the day to day focused on pragmatic methods of survival instead of the dreams she had long given up on. She did what she was told as she was told, and her husband did the same. However, it could be different. They could escape and define their lives in a way that felt meaningful to them. They had merely read books on their topics of interest but the explanations were shallow at best. If they could only practice the methods as they read them, then perhaps they could bring some new perspectives to their regimented existence. The authorities claimed that there weren’t enough resources in the community to practice them, however. She knew this and yet the yearning for more grew with the passing days. Then came the day she began to see others like herself.

It began subtly. She would catch glimpses here and there of another face near hers. It was always a pleasant face with smooth, symmetrical features and bright eyes. Soon she began to hear the voices of her new friends in the glass. She was delighted to learn that they had names as well. She tried to introduce herself, but her own name had escaped her. Luckily, they were kind enough to provide her with a name. Ophelia is what they called her. Though their faces were blurry in the dimly lit room, she was sure they were human. The voices were soft, barely above a whisper, but they sounded kinder and more endearing than the gruff, cynical voices of the others in her community. They offered her a way outside, to be free like they were, but she would have to convince Edgar to join them as well.

Edgar would think himself remiss if he left. Their community had long been self-sufficient, but it depended on the individual households to sustain it. Each house had its own garden and rain collection system. The crops were assigned at the start of each year so that each house would be responsible for a different crop. To leave their community in the middle of a crop cycle would disrupt the whole system. But, if they were to go just after the harvest and fail to report to the assignment ceremony on account of an undisclosed illness, then they could be assigned primarily textile crops. These crops were usually given to members nearing the prescribed dying age as a precaution because they would go at some point in the same year. It was an underhanded plan, but if it meant freeing themselves of the community's constraints, it surely couldn’t be too terrible. Afterall, it was customary for members of the community to choose their execution. Would it be so different if they simply abjugated themselves from the community to live out the rest of their lives as they desired?

The day finally came to set themselves free. Edgar had agreed tentatively to the plan on the condition that they not feign illness. Instead, he suggested, they would go in the middle of the night after the last crop was harvested and collected by the authorities. Then, they would seal the panel behind them so that they could not be tracked down and brought back for punishment. Everything was in order and accounted for. All that was left to do was to traverse the window into the outside world, and into freedom.

Edgar and Ophelia stood before the smooth surface gazing only at themselves. The outside world was plentiful, so they had no need to bring more than themselves. Ophelia felt a pull and was drawn closer to the glass with Edgar in tow. Ophelia began to see the faces of the friends she grew to hold dear. They seemed happy to see her standing there with Edgar, eager to help welcome them to the outside. Suddenly, the smooth surface of the glass began to ripple like agitated water. Something was wrong, but it was too late. The lights they had lain out began to dim with pigments of crimson.

Edgar ran back to the panel they had entered from but discovered that it was on the opposite side of the room. He turned back towards the window only to find a shadowy figure of his distorted and disfigured wife. Its eyes were bright like the light at the end of a long tunnel. The shadowy figure began to grow and transform. Long gnarled limbs grew from its torso in perfect symmetry. Its head sported many faces, including Ophelia and his geriatric friend, Carl. They looked happy to see him. In many voices it said to him, “At last, my dear, you are free of your material burdens. Together, we will devour endlessly.” Edgar tried to let out a scream, but only a dry whisper came. As his last thoughts raced in his mind, his friend James came into view. He was muttering to himself about what a strange spot it was to keep a window while Edgar stood beside James with deplorably bright eyes.