There is a bright sun shining down on a creative but violent world. There is a town with very few people and little hope of prosperity. There’s an old building in the middle of the town for the crazy folk. There is a window in this building, the glass pristine, perfect. There is a girl, nearly fourteen, in the window.
Her skin is insipid, dull, and drained. It severely clashes with her black hair and white straitjacket. She stares out the window with big blue eyes. Such colors, such wonders, such beauty, it’s a painting come to life. She watches from the sterile window as the school bus unloads. Children cheer, yell, run, and tease, their footsteps loud, but their banter refreshing.
There is a nurse who watches the girl, wondering if this child dreams of freedom. Does she have hopes for the future? Does she want marriage or kids? “Maybe one day you’ll be out there.” She speaks softly, sweetly. This young woman at the window split her heart.
Blue eyes shift, “Never, ever.” She sputters, stares back out, she likes the world from here. Her body twitches. Out there lives her greatest fear, the ultimate predator—bugs. Those nasty creatures that make you itch. Irritate the flesh until your fingernails scratch, lifting whatever the bug left behind, and dead rotting skin cells.
Behind this immaculate glass, in this dilapidated crazy house, in the middle of a small hopeless town, under the bright sun, in this creative but violent world she is perfectly fine.