The Window

There it is again. This window. Shimmering silver laced its rectangular edges, reflecting the moonlight into the darkest corners of the room. Brightening it. diamond ledges. Blood red rubies scattered the sparkling diamond, amidst other glowing precious stones. The glass panels bear no smudge, inviting the stars to explore the desolate room that is your purgatory. The centerpiece of it all: a single red rose. It seems to emit a faint glow the moment you set your eyes upon it, as if shyly beckoning you to draw near, to appreciate its eternal beauty. The ethereal window never fails to amaze you. Transfixed, you slowly approach it.
***
The first time it appeared, you mistook it for a god. What else could wield such beauty, such wonder? It brought an imaginable hope to your dark cell. A vague sense of longing. If only you could touch it, embrace it, keep it…
The first time you touched it, you felt immense pain. Suffering beyond imagination. You are not a masochistic person. Why, then, did you feel a sense of pleasure amidst the pain? Why? You have no answer.
Eventually, the window passes. And you stare forlornly at where it once was, forever trapped in that black, lonely space. Falling into depression. How you long to touch it again. to admire it once more. Just one more time. Just once. Inevitably, the depression fades, and you lapse into silence, waiting for it to grace you with its visit again. Many times you encountered it. Many times you endured the suffering. Many times you chased after the pleasure. For that was all you could feel in your mundane life. You are addicted.
***
You raise your hand to touch it again, to fulfill your burning desire. A moonbeam shines on it, and something catches your eye. Your eyes widen in horror. Sunken black skin. Long, unkempt fingernails. Veins popping out. your emaciated hand is nothing more than skin and bone. Doubt starts to creep into your heart, fastening roots into its walls. Is it worth it? Should you continue grasping at straws, trying to attain the unattainable? The trance is weakening. Your senses start to return.
Just then, the window glows, bathed in silvery moonlight. You are momentarily blinded. It all comes back. Its toxic beauty and beckoning. The pain and the pleasure. The single blood red rose. The window is calling.
As you have done a thousand times, so your hand reaches out for heaven of its own accord. It falters for a moment-just a moment- before reaching its destination. Your fingers touch the cool, marble surface of the window, and it happens. Fire burns white-hot in your hand. The sheer pain hits you like a bomb. Like the first time. There it is again! This pleasure. The sweetest sin. You scream in desperation as you grasp at the window ledge, attempting to hold on, to never let it go. It is futile.
Too soon, the window starts to vanish once more. Within seconds, the diamond ledges are gone. The rubies are no more. All that is left is a glittering silence. It is too soon.
The excruciating pain disappears from your fingertips, as numbness coldly sets in. all that is left is a bitter aftertaste as you sink into a vaguely familiar, devastating depression.