Rapping At The WindowA Story by CompellingComposer
The rapping on the window woke me with surprise, causing me to jolt upward out of bed. I clutched my heart, breathing heavily, beads of sweat on my forehead. I stand up and walk towards the window. The pouring rain falls down the window, racing to the bottom. Every second a new drop appearing. I pressed my face against the window, feeling it’s cool glass on my warm cheek. I sighed and watched my breath fog up the window and fade away.
“ I know you’re out there. You can stop hiding now,” I whispered, shivering. I heard the rapping at the window again, yet not as loud this time. It was the response. I moved a strand of hair from my face. He was going to show up this time. I had broken the limb that constantly beat on the wall near my room so there would be no more confusion whether it was him or the weather. I tugged on my pajama pant strings, I curled my already too-curly hair with my finger, waiting. He was out there, I knew it. “ May I come in?” the wind seemed to ask. “ Yes.” I cracked open the window and watched him step in. I took in everything about him. Tall, deep green eyes, messy brown hair, and large hands. I smiled. “ You showed up,” I smirked. “ You doubted me?” he asked. I chuckled. “ well, it’s been days since you last came over. “ Yeah, sorry about that,” he apologized in his deep voice, complimented with a strong, Southern accent. “ I know, it’s alright,” I said. I plopped down on my bed, “ I’ve missed you, though.” “ You know I’m not supposed to be here, anyway. I could get killed.” “ You also know, as well as I do, that we aren’t supposed to love each other, either. It’s just the sacrifices that we make.” “ Don’t be angry at me, I’ve been trying,” he whimpered like a young boy. I motioned him to sit next to me and I wrapped my arms around his neck. “ I’m not mad,” I said. “ I just miss you.” We sat there in the silence, the only light being the moonlight shining through the window. We kept holding each other, not wanting to let go. I shuddered, holding back my tears. He sighed and said, “ Let’s go.” © 2011 CompellingComposer |
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Added on March 17, 2011Last Updated on March 17, 2011 AuthorCompellingComposerNCAboutMy name is Megan and I have been writing poems since 4th grade and stories since 6th. I'm very, very young, as I've noticed from the ages of my fellow writers on this site. Yes, I am only 13, but writ.. more..Writing
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