The Window - The 2nd Letter

XX - XQ - XXXX

S. Michaud

Damn that hag! Interrupting my pen just as he began to cooperate. A morning has passed since my first entry, or I assume so; the days tend to blend. What a disgrace my note must be! The paper is surely ashamed; my pen, he weeps, the poor soul. I assume, again. I refuse to read it, not wishing to disgrace myself any further. I hardly remember where I was cut off. But still, I refuse!

Do not question me, stranger! So what if there's no sense in my reason? Shame has no sense! However, there’s more besides my embarrassment. As I might have, perhaps, mentioned on the previous page, I refuse to be confined, to be bound, to be influenced—even by myself! Oh, what is a man without his will? Oh, what is my will worth?

I write “I refuse,” and yet I have no right. As long as I’m chained, I cave and conform like clay. Or else, what reason had I to stop my pen! Damn that hag, a mule of a woman. How simple can one be! Her worn, rigid voice always leaves an itch in my ear. The witch can always tell if I’ve cheeked a pill, then stuffs it down my throat. No matter how I beg and sob, she insists on closing the curtains! Those cursed, black curtains! The window!

I’ve recalled it exactly! The window, the wonderful window! It is the ticket, the key, the pass; the true entrance to true freedom! “A window? You refuse to exit through an available door, but are leaping for joy at a window?” Yes! Exactly! You’ve grown, child! I will ignore your tone; you are but a child. Listen and learn: the window is the only acceptable gate to the outside. 

That being said, I must warn you, child: do not fall for the trickery of the door. The door! An accursed thing, really. How horrid; made of wood, engraved with oblongs, adorned with those wicked knobs. How iniquitous indeed! Nothing made with man's intention can be righteous, anyhow. Look at man's poor, mighty door! Man thinks himself so beyond, so enlightened, with his reason and his hands.

Ah, but I am not blind or oblivious! I do not have such bliss. No one with man's reason enters or exits a building through its window, especially if it has a door. If the window was the way, then why do we even have doors? Why isn’t everyone going through the window if it’s the right way? Father, spare me! 

Simply because they—like you, stranger—are mere children who do not yet understand. They’re under the illusion that the door leads them outside, but do not know the truth, and do not grasp the full meaning of freedom. The innocence of babes! How pure, how mighty. I dream, I fantasize, I wish my mind could be like that of a child. Enough, before I upset myself! I’m off my path.

Besides the illusion of the door is the convenience of it. The door is easier to go through because of the very handle that should be avoided. The door was designed for the very purpose of going through, after all. By man's hands, no less. The door's familiarity is enough reason on its own! It’d be much too awkward, much too uncomfortable, to maneuver through the tight window. Comfort and convenience! I detest them both, for they are only synonyms for confinement. 

My beloved window offers me neither! Oh, bless you! Only a lock with no key; only light and no air. How blest! My window knows my longings and still denies me. How cruel is the door that offers itself to me. My window would do no such thing! It seduces me with its view; it eludes me with its glass. How can it be! The window knows my desires and keeps them from me, and therefore, my desires are fulfilled! 

Wait, beloved window; I will be fulfilled! I will take what cannot be mine! I will conquer! For only through conquering can I be fulfilled; such is the nature of my desires. I swear I will! I will conquer the window. I will conquer the outside. I will! Wait for me, window! Watch me, door! Curse you, hag! Wait, I will!