Smudged and dirty. It is the window through which I watch. Through which I see. The man sits in a wooden chair. He looks familiar, but the dim light does not let me clearly see his features. Mom might think that he could use a haircut.

Shadowy figures surround him. There isn’t much I can say to describe them. They are mysterious. And shadowy, did I mention that? Some of them whisper, others yell. Two in the back just laugh. All of this appears to be directed at the man in the chair. The man continues to strike me as familiar.

I ease the window open. Just slightly. And I listen.

They tell him that he is alone. They say that nobody likes him. One whispers in his ear that he is absolutely worthless. Those two in the back continue to laugh.

Three of them step forward from the pack. I hear them loud and clear. They start to list off his history. But only the bad parts. Mistakes. Seemingly every mistake that the man has made is brought to light. He is in clear and obvious pain now. I find it very unfair that they have not even mentioned one good thing that this man has done.

I grow uneasy looking through the window. It hurts my heart, seeing how they are treating him. And here I am, just watching through this grubby window. I feel powerless. I do not want those shadowy figures to see me. But I can feel a fire rising in me.

Where the strength came from I will never know. I smash through the window and run into the room. The shadowy figures seem to wither away from me. As if I am on fire. I offer my hand to the man in the chair, and help him up. I notice again that he looks familiar.

We walk out of that haunted room. Together.