Violent rain drops beat against the lead pane windows, rattling the glass, pushing it to the limit. The rain pelts down in sheets consistent with the wind that blows in waves of strong forceful hatred. Through the window, although blurred with rain, and a dull hue covering everything, looking somewhat how the world might look through the windows of teary eyes, lies a small garden with a wooden swing, supported by a tree. .
This wooden swing, looking weather beaten and tired holds the memories of happy moments past gone and sad moments still to come. It blows with the wind letting itself be taken by its continuous movement. The tree that the swing is tied to has been their longer than time can remember. Its branches are strong with wrinkled bark that falls off in small scabs like the dry skin of an old man. The leaves that change colour with the season are a dull green. They seem to loose their colour as the day wears on. Leaves move, bend with the wind and rain. Heavy water droplets drizzle down the trunk of the tree and fall heavily on the seat of the swing. Their so old, so tired, they've given up trying any more.
Viewing the window from the other side, looking up at the towering windows that loom above all else, stands a girl. Alone is she, her head resting heavily on the windows edge, eyes looking out over the small garden, and eventually resting on swing moving madly in the weather as the grey light falls upon on side of her face leaving the other half in darkness, the way she liked it. She drags up a frail hand and gently places it on the window pane, just her finger tips, just lightly. The heat, though not much, from her touch leaves small patches of condensation around the tips of her resting hand giving her life. Pale, gaunt, eyes saddened with some unknown misery, some mystery pain that once plagued her and probably still does. .
Her eyes, a dull grey cant hide the way they look at everything with a downcast feel.
