the girl in the window

 The girl was at her window again. Tears streamed down her face. I wondered why something so beautiful was in so much pain. She didn't deserve it. I wanted to go over there, but I knew I could not. Suddenly a shadow appeared behind her. A man. He looked like he was screaming. She tried to be brave, but I could see the fear in her eyes. She stepped back, trying to get away from him. He lifted his arm. Her mouth opened in what I knew was a gut-wrenching scream, just as his fist made contact. He then pulled her out of the room by her hair, she struggled against him the whole way.

After that, I did not see her for a week. Every day I would wait for her to come, just so that I could know she was ok. Then finally she did. She could barely stand, and had a horrible bruise around her left eye. Clumps of hair were missing and she had a dead look in her eyes. I wondered again, how anyone could deserve this, least of all her. She sat at the window, and like always began to cry. It was different this time. Usually, it was silent tears, today I could see her moving with the force of her sobs. She did not move for three days. Not to eat not for anything. And neither did I.

On day four, a woman came into the room that I had never seen before. She was covered in bruises, and the small patches of skin that weren't purple were so pale it looked like she had never seen the light of day. She came forward putting a comforting hand on the girl. She just tore away and it looked like she was screaming at the woman. Yesterday the tears had stopped. Now they were back. I hated seeing her this way.

She had been away again. I drove myself sick with worry and the thought of what could have happened. But, like always she came back. But this time something was unusual about her. The fear in her eyes was gone. In its place was something else. Rage maybe? A feeling of strength? I could not tell. Then I saw a flicker of silver. Looking closer I realised it was a knife, hidden in her clothes. The man came in yelling again. This time she did not scream. She did not cry. She shot forward plunging the knife in his chest, then his neck, and everywhere else she could find. Only when she was certain he was dead did she stop, and finally let herself break down once more. I knew she could not be alone any longer. I put on my shoes and walked over to the house of the beautiful girl in the window.