From Sight

Doctor? Yes, its Mrs. Borguinne. She has locked herself in the attic room. Yes, I know. I did try, but she moved so fast this time. What? No, no more mention of the voices, just the eyes. I do wish I could figure it out, if it were something we could stop, block from her sight…yes, we did try that. She ended up in the closet most of the day. Yes? No. No. We couldnt possible. Jacob, um, Mr. Borguinne would never allow it. Maybe just the soft restraints. It the pair of eyes, Doctor. I only want to spare her the terror. What? The window? She has mentioned the window before, now that you say that. Not since November, when she started to wear the cloak and hood. Two months later. She said it was just while she was cleaning, but then they became permanent. No, the heavy tights didn’t start till later. Four. Two in May alone. I know. Across the street?

I loved watching the water. LOVED IT! I was never happier than when the master commissioned them and the lovely view was had. I would gaze and gaze. No time wasted, sun sets, sun rises and all in between. Ships and sails, kids and dogs, storms and fog ( tickles!); never knew there was such a variety to life! But also a rhythm, a repetition that lets you know, you are part of something…

I wore icicles and inches of lids, artificial. The river wore lacy ice frocks of bird footprints. I awoke to lightning and thunder, dozed to pattering rain. The view wavered and wrinkled in the heat and muffled and faded in the cold. It twinkled at night and sparkled during the day.

But then, the builders betrayed me. My view swallowed up by a new house.

I can’t stop looking. And it can’t stop being there, void of personality. There is this strange flash of peach, in the windows, smudged, seething at me…

***

This is for Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Press. I was inspired by the picture before I read the twist. But then I thought to write another side, the opposite of what first occurred to me, like suggested. It was fun. Check it out…

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