The Open Window

The wind threw open the rickety window bringing in a few dried up leaves- the Autumn fall. Her tired and weak eyes opened with the fresh gust of breath that blew inside. From where she lay on her bed, she gazed at the piece of sky that showed from her window. Her partial sight that had lost some light still held the fragmented visions of her past life...A wry smile appeared on her chapped lips as her wrinkled visage lay half-hidden among her disheveled silver strands. She couldn't walk, she couldn't talk...not enough strength left to do so. Next to her bed in the dim-lit room, lay bottles of medicines, the pungent odor of which mingled with the musty smell of desolation and the rancid stench of stale oil, the scent of cold abandon. The rice gruel left on the worn-out stool was now as cold as her shriveled shrunken hands that lay limp. Her life suspended between the past and the present as the old oak clock ticked away like subdued heartbeats. There, in the lonesome room, she lay awaiting her nearing end...but with not a trace of remorse or regret...she loved the fact she was alive...she still loved to look through the window and gaze at the piece of sky she was used to seeing.

Then, remembering her youthful laughter, a smile drew up on her lips for one last time. As another gust of wind blew in, the old oak clock had stopped ticking...