"Look Not my Way..."

The old man's building loomed over the rest. The late day sun danced in mimicking reflections on the windowpane, but the old man did not stir. He lay in his bed with his eyes averted from the glare. His bed sat just opposite of the small window, far enough away to forget the outside world. Normally the sun had been a companion of his, but today he was not ready to face its truth. The sun, thought the old man, never lied.

It was summer still, and the summer months were cruel here, especially if you ventured outside; but the old man rarely did this. His small flat had its limitations, but it was enough. His meager surroundings reminded him of his fate, a fate in which he accepted, as one accepts old age.

It was not as if he delighted in solitude, but he had lived like this for so long that it pleased him to know what the day would bring. He dined alone, read his paper alone and slept alone, even his dreams were of loneliness; his only pastime lay at dusk, a time when most of the surrounding buildings occupants arrived home from their daily work. The old man would eagerly sit at his little window and watch his neighbor's lives unfold. Sometimes he would take his evening meal at the window and imagine he was watching a film, "Dinner and a movie" the old man would whisper to himself with a smirk. This was his only joy. He would imagine their lives as he would like to have lived, the young men coming back from social gatherings, stumbling drunk...but happy; and the young woman sophisticated yes-most likely obstinate as well. The old man liked to think of his neighbors and imagine it was his life he viewed from this little window, for he lived no life of his own.

Dusk awaited him, this coming night, like any other. His dreams were interrupted once again by the reflections of the sun, taunting him with images from his past; he wanted to forget, but the memory of the sun was steadfast and replayed the images back to him, urging him not to forget. What stories would he be told today?

Across his window, the opposite building towered. The man's old eyes peered out beyond the grimy windowpane to a window that housed the odd couple; a rail thin man sitting with his hefty wife having coffee and a smoke, their daily ritual. The old man tastes the hot bitter liquid on his lips, and the billowing smoke assaults his nostrils with its pungent aroma. The old man's eyes scanned the window to his left; all the apartments were occupied, all except one. The inhabitants of every apartment could be seen through his own window, for they did not attempt to hide nor shield their personal life from his prying eyes.

Today was Sunday. This meant that most of his neighbors would be home today, enjoying their routines and having Sunday dinners. He lived for Sundays, normally.

The old man thought, "It is time for my supper as well." So, the old man began to make his meager meal, made of curried rice, bread and wine. This was his Sunday meal, a celebration, a meeting of the minds! He sat at his window, scanning for what he would already know and understand. The lives of others, gathered before him, were taunting him to remember.....

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Deep in thought, the old man's eyes barely noticed the illuminating light coming from the vacant apartment across from his. The shadow of a woman appeared in his small window, a ghost of a memory, returning from so long ago. He knew this shadow; his eyes followed her body from behind the drawn drapes. Her body was slim and seemed to float before him, stopping at the window facing him. The old man felt frightened, his appetite lost.

"Who are you?" uttered the man. He knew that this apartment had been vacant before today; but there was no doubt now, that someone lived there.

The old man grew confused. The drowning sun was known for playing tricks, but the old man was not fooled this time; this woman was there, her body, very real to him. He tapped on the glass, not to drawn attention to himself, but in hope that she would grow curious and draw her drapes and reveal herself. He tapped again, louder this time, breaking a piece of the windowpane off. The drapes flew open as if an enormous wind pulled at them, the shadow melted and became a rainbow of colors; the brightness blinded the old man and he squinted to see what lay before him.

There she stood, this phantom woman that appeared before his window. The old man was happy; he now could add a new chronicle to his stories. But there was something different; the old man's heart fluttered and his breath quickened. She was quite beautiful, a heroine for his story...this was as it should be.

The women's long dark hair was tangled, her eyes wild with emotion. She wore a white dress that clung to her body, which illuminated her, even with the coming darkness. Her expression went unnoticed by the old man, mistaking her wild eyes for passion. For this is what he felt, a stirring of the soul, a plot like no other; this story was better than the ones that came before her, and would rein superior to the ones that would follow.

The old man knew this sensation to be, love. He had very few possessions and even fewer relationships from the outside world. He had never wanted more, well, not since the lost one; he had not felt love for so long, that it almost made his heart ache with regret. He wanted to touch her, to feel her silken skin beside him. He imagined her hair caressing his face and her words floating above him, words of hope and dreams.

"I want you to know that I am sorry..." the old man whispered. He had recognized her now. "My life is nothing without you," but his words meant nothing.

The woman just looked at him, with those wild and intense eyes. The old man did not care to see the truth behind her eyes, he pretended not to notice.

"Why won't you speak to me? You've come back after all of these years and you have nothing to say to me? What do you want?" The old man's voice grew hoarse from screaming, but still she wouldn't speak.

The faint aroma of her perfume lingered in the air, like a forgotten promise. The old man thought of better times, and when his love was enough for her, before she left him... before he became what he was today.

God, she was so beautiful.

"Do you remember the first time we spoke? You bumped into me and I held you up from falling...I saved you that day, do you remember?" The old man chuckled to himself. He remembered her eyes that day, how they held such admiration, and he knew that they would be together forever. "I saved you..." he muttered.

In his mind, he remembered the life he shared with her, and how it was before the bad times started. They were so in love, and planned to get married...to live happily ever after. He could remember everything, but then the fog set in and his memory was clouded; they grew apart and there was another man, all that was left was jealousy and rage.

"I wish we could have loved each other at the same times," he reflected.

The old man looked at her again, coming in and out of thought, but still she held that same burning glare. Then he knew...he knew that that look was not a look of passion, but a gaze of hatred; the fog had finally lifted and he remembered.

The anger, hate, betrayal, and finally the rage is what had made him do it. He had forgotten this horror, but she had not; she was of the sun, a glimmer of truth that lay within its rays of light, she had been with him, always.

The light replaced the hate within him, and over time, the blood upon his hands was cleansed by the truth of the sun. But even the sun cannot live forever, then the darkness comes to find us alone and aware of the misery that surrounds us. She, is that darkness.

Memories came flooding into the old man's mind, awful memories of evil and hate; memories stained with the blood of his wife. The old man's chest heaved with disgust; he was not that man, not anymore! Perhaps he was dreaming of this ghostly woman, still in his warm bed, having a nightmare; the worst nightmare of his life! But he knew, the sun was the bringer of truth, and that truth whispered "Killer".

With every minute her stare gazed deeper, until his soul was immersed in the flames of her light. His trail had begun, and the verdict handed down...GUILTY! The evil within him came out like a bubbling disease, his mouth foamed, purging out all of his iniquities while his eyes glared ahead at his impending doom. The sun.

"Look not my way,

to my menacing glare-

For your fate will be told-

and your sins will be shared..."

The phantom whispered to him as if to punish him further. Over and over again, she sang her evil tune.

"No! Do not speak to me," the old man pleaded. "I cannot bear the truth; I am no longer that man. I am not a murderer!"

The old man clutched at his guilty heart, his blood and organs worked against him now, obeying the whispers of the ghost of his late wife, Lydia. He felt her rage drowning him, cutting off the breath and poisoning his blood with her venomous stare. The whispers invaded his head and chilled him, even on this hot summer night.

His heart stopped as he tumbled to the floor, with a great shriek of horror. The shriek echoed in his head and radiated through the room, to the window, so that the woman could finally look away. The old man's apartment was immersed in a pure and simple light, almost as if the sun was setting and a new day had arrived.

The thin man and his heavy wife heard the scream coming from the window from the building across from theirs. They had told the police that they had seen the old man peering out in horror, just moments before his blood curdling shriek. They also told the officer that was bothered them most, was the way the old man kept staring out that window. At first they thought that he was staring at them, but when they looked again they noticed a young woman standing before him with the brightest eyes they had ever seen; and what was stranger yet, was the funny sounding rhyme she was singing to him just before he died.....

"Look not my way,

to my menacing glare-

For your fate will be told-

and your sins will be shared..."


The End.....