The Bedroom Window

The Bedroom Window

A Story by Connor

They say my colorwheel is shifted into a reverse position, and I mistake my circles for squares, and sqaures for circles. I sit in my room and watch orange tinted raindrops fall from the pastel orange sky. As the deep blue sun falls beneath an aqua sunset I sit in the middle of my circular room and stare out the window. Soon the flint moon will rise above the soaring pink hills deep off in the horizon. I look down to stare at my green tinged hands, watch my squared off fingernails rise up and down tapping against the mattress as my feet hang just above the floor. Twisting my body in one motion my feet swing up and into the bed and my head falls onto the pillow and in one fell swoop the cieling stares back into my purple eyes with flecks of pink glinting off the light shone through the bulb from the lamp in the corner. I don't go to school, because the way I see the entire world is so wrong that, I could never learn anything anyway. I don't have friends because, I don't leave my bedroom. Sometimes I lay in bed, reading book after book. I am obbsessed with the wild jazz travels of the mid twentieth century and I imagine swilling down jugs of wine and laughing away with huge groups of people, shouting my ideas and being accepted as an intellect and not a degenerate with a defect. I feel the needle slide beneath my skin, and burst blue with blood before dangerous drugs are shot into my circulatory system sending me into a different world. I have read many books, and many articles and many facts. I know people indulge in psycopsilibins, in order to see the world as I do, and wonder if maybe I can see the world as other people do, the ones who call themselves normal. Every new thing I see passing by my window swings like a jazz song, at times unpredictable, such as the wind blowing clouds through that pastel orange sky, as if the jazz man blows his trumpet wildly, sweat dripping and flying off his face. As his lungs push and pull with varying strength and speed the wind hops up and down shooting glowing clouds past my window. 
I'm sure some in my situation may wish they had never been born this way, I can never leave my room, as I am not aloud. The only escape is immersion in something other then myself, or death, but I found my imagination to sometimes be soothing. I imagine myself one day growing wings, and flying among those beautiful black clouds, glowing with the reflection of the blue sun against that once again, so pretty pastel orange sky. I have heard that during sunsets, the other people see orange against a blue sky, well I would love to ask them, is it really that bad too see it in a different way. When I don't dream of flying through the clouds, I see myself painting what I see. The pink horizon miles in the distance, huge trees rising up with swaying bright purple leaves. Peaking through the leaves and beneath the canopy a blue sun, bright and strong as ever slowly falls beneath the horizon. Waves of aqua, and turquoise and green burst forth into the orange sky. The sharp black clouds stumble lazily through the beautiful scene before me, unaware of the occurance. And this is what I see, and is it wrong too see what I see? What if I see the world as it truly is, and everyone else sees it wrong? Or what if, the world is simply a beautiful creation, of an even more complex mind inside of ever human being, a creation that each and every one of us sees differently. The world is as I see it, and although I don't see it the same as you, or any person on the highway stuck in traffic, or in their office making money, or in the classroom learning, I see the world as radiant and awe inspiring as ever, from my bedroom window, with dreams of one day sharing the view from my bedroom window with the world. 

© 2010 Connor


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Added on July 20, 2010
Last Updated on July 20, 2010

Author

Connor
Connor

About
i'm a journalism student attending northeastern university. my dorm bookshelf currently holds big sur by jack kerouac, the stranger by albert camus and junky by william burroughs. my favorite music ar.. more..

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