Open the Window

          She can tell it's cold outside without even opening the window. The cold seeps through to her side through the cracks in the frame she's laid her hand against. It numbs her hand, but the rest of her body is warm, wrapped in the thick quilt her mother made. She finds the contrast lovely.
          It's dark outside, the early hours of the morning were too early for the sun to even begin to rise. She can't sleep but she can see the almost hypnotizing, flashing, traffic lights from behind the dead and wilted trees in her backyard. She can also see the moon in the cloudless sky smiling down at her, as if he's happy she's awake and he has company. She smiles back and keeps her hand on the cracked window frame. She's done this hundreds of times, though she's lost track of exactly how many. Each time is always different. Each time she'll dream, with her eyes open, of something that has caught her fancy in the days before it. Playing out scenes on the grass below her window.
          Tonight she dreams of being kidnapped, not being rescued. She had read a lovely story where a girl was kidnapped, but her kidnapper had fallen in love with her, and her with him. She smiles to herself as she remembers the thrill of something so forbidden, and had decided that she wanted it all. She wanted that forbidden love.
         She can just imagine it. A single figure, hiding in the shadows calls her name softly, pleading, coaxing her into opening the window. She complies, curious as to who this man was, and what he wanted with her, tightening her grip on the quilt as the blast of cold air ruins her wonderful contrast. The figure then whispers to her, telling her to come outside, but that she doesn't agree to, as curious as she is, she doesn't want to be near the man. She grasps onto the window sill firmly, to show defiance. She expects anger, and receives silence instead, watching in stunned silence as he disappears into the darkness behind him. Suddenly he appears in front of her, staring for a second, and she's sure she hears the word "beautiful" tumble forth from his lips before he grabs her arm and pulls, quilt and all, out of the window and into the cold and his waiting arms. He holds onto her tightly as he begins to run, never looking back.
         She tries not to be scared and fails, but can't help but feel some sort of exhilaration. She knows that the feeling is wrong, and she frowns, trying to ignore the swell of excitement that she can't quite keep down. They pass under a light, and she tries to catch a glimpse of her captor; a shine of dark eyes, a flash of white teeth, almost...
         She's woken from her dreaming to find the moon no longer smiling down at her. She imagines he's angry, disappointed, and she offers up her apologies for angering it so with outrageous dreaming; promising to dream up something better, nicer, happier the next night.
         She removes her hand from the cold window and lays it on her cheek, reveling in the touch as she snuggles into her blankets and pillows. She sends a goodnight up to her friend Mr. Moon, and sings a lullaby softly to herself as she drifts off to sleep.