The face in the window…

Alone, he sat, fingers hovering over the keys. He knew, of course, what he wanted to say… The words had already taken shape in his mind’s eye, already given themselves form and reason. He knew, knew all too well what it was he wished to complete this post with. But, as had happened so many times before, hesitation had taken hold. Its bony fingers grasped his wrists, holding them back from the keyboard with a steady but strong restraint…

Sighing, he swivelled around in his chair, turning to gaze out of the murky window. The first few beads of condensation began to form at it’s extremeties, mirroring the raindrops clinging to the other side. He barely noticed, however, focusing instead on the street below, beyond this current realm of his. It was deserted now, save a few parked cars and a cat taking shelter by the gates of the school opposite his house. Small streams flowed down the roadway, pouring themselves into the waiting drains. The puddles on the footpath shook and spat as each new raindrop crashed down upon them, sending the reflection of the dull amber streetlight dancing in all directions. Somewhere in the distance, the sky flashed, lighting up but for a moment the maze of clouds that swirled overhead. The thunder rumbled a few seconds later, a low menacing threat of more to come.

Mind churning, he turned away from the window once more. The glow of the computer screen cast a strange shadow across his face, witnessed by no one. Sighing once more, he paused the song that had been playing on repeat for the past ten minutes. The melody coming softly though his speakers halted abruptly, giving way to the gentle tapping of the raindrops outside. Throwing his arms nehind his head, he swivelled in his chair a second time, now facing the interior of his room. Bible verses and inspiring quotes adorned his walls, seeming to glow out at him in the light from his lamps. His guitar stood in its stand, standing guard in the corner of the room. A half finished book lay on his bedside table, sat open at the point he had reached the night before. And everywhere, everywhere, was the stillness. The rain pattered against the window like a metronome, as he contemplated the absolute stillness of his realm. The silenced music added now to the emptiness he perceived around him, the isolation he felt creeping into the edges of his mind…

His blog post forgotten, he turned again to the window, unable to face his room any longer. Turning his attention back to the street outside, his mind fought to shut out the lonliness that so often plagued him on these late nights. Silently, and unknown to him, the clock on his computer screen clocked forward by one digit. 2:34am.

What would one think, he found himself wondering, if they glanced up at my window as they walked past outside? It was foolish, he knew, to imagine anyone going for a walk in the rain at that time of night. But the question remained. They would see a face. They would see my face… but what would they think? Would they know I exist… I mean, really exist? Would they wonder about my story? Would they ponder over what makes me tick, how I live, what I feel and hope for and dream of? Or is that all that I would be… a face in the window…

Slowly, he turned back to his computer. It would do no good to start dealing with these thoughts tonight. Better to sleep, to rest, and face the new dawn with a new resolve. These feelings that come at night, they’re so much easier to ignore during the day… best to go to sleep, and speed it’s arrival…

His eyes focused on the screen in front of him. His own words shone back. This post would not be finished tonight, he knew. He could not write what he wanted to… it was not right to do so. He saved the post, to be finished another time, and shut down his computer. Turning off his lamps and closing the curtains, he lay down on his bed, allowing the steady drumming of the heavier oncoming rain to lull him off to sleep. How many other faces are at windows tonight? he wondered, as he drifted off into slumber. I wonder if anyone thinks of them too…


Steadily, he paced through the wind blowing against him. Camera bag over his shoulder, tripod under his arm, and raincoat flapping around him, he made his way home along the road. The night hadn’t been a total waste – he had managed to get some pretty good snaps of the clouds before the rain simply became too heavy for him to risk soaking his camera any further. He pressed on, feeling the water from the puddles entering his shoes with every step… old trainers may be comfortable, but they have their downsides too. Passing by the school, he stole a glance up at his friends house. There, in the window, illuminated by the glow of a computer screen, sat his friend. It was hard to make out, the fog on the inside of the window reaching almost halfway to the top of the glass. Stopping, he considered calling his friend on his mobile, stopping for a cup of tea, having a chat… the late hour, he knew, would not necessarily be a problem. As he watched, however, the glow of the computer screen died, and the curtains closed. He turned away, and proceeded with his walk back to his own house. Better not to bother his friend if he was heading to bed – sleep is a valuable thing, they both knew that all too well. Still, he thought, it would have been nice to have a chat, to hear what his friend had been up to, share stories of the past few days… their chats were always something he looked forward to.

Walking on, the rain continued to pelt against him, and the wind began to strengthen. Lightning flashed once more, as he thought about his friend, the face in the window, and gave thanks for him. That face in the window, though he didn’t always know it, was a real blessing…


7 Responses to “The face in the window…”

  1. Sophie Says:


  2. …and sometimes the ‘faces in the window’ are the ones who are giving thanks for their friends.

  3. : )


  4. […] a ghost to the world… A most excellent friend of mine published a post recently.  I couldn’t help but strike a chord with the story it was telling; one utterly […]

  5. Victoria Says:


    I don’t know how to say what that reminds me of. Whether it reminds me of something, or if its here and now. I’m not sure.

  6. […] The Crescendo… I’ve been feeling distinctly ‘odd’ of late.  Perhaps my current state of confinement within the four walls of my little home has put my mind in a place where it reverts to contemplation in order to keep itself ticking over while I gradually try to kill it with a constant, focused dose of Grand Theft Auto IV and Britains Best Dish.  Perhaps I’m feeling displaced having been removed from the constant state of academic flux of which I have been a part for the past four years.  Perhaps I’m simply lonely given my detachment from good friends who have been literaly on my doorstep in the recent past.  Whatever the correct explaination, this state of ‘oddness’ has created a perpetual and yet dynamic malaise.  When this ever-present malaise reaches it’s zenith I find myself in a distinctly philosophical mood; a mood not unlike that experienced by that face in the window.  […]

  7. Let the wars begin, let my strength wear thin
    Let my fingers crack, let my world fall apart
    As the dead moon rises, and the freeways sigh
    Let the trains watch over the tides and the mist
    Spinning circles in our skies tonight
    Let it start tonight
    When my world explodes, when my stars touch the ground
    Falling down like broken satellites

    All of my world resting on your love

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