Stacey looked out her morning window.
Rain poured down as cars sped along the street, splashing water onto pedestrians who were looking for shelter. Stacey planned on going out today, but the rain convinced her otherwise. She decided to finish mending her torn coat instead. The TV blared, breaking the monotony of silence as she threaded the needle through her coat.
“Stacey, please don’t leave me. I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve heard that before. You’ve run out of chances.”
“No! Please! Stay!”
“Let go of me!”
“No! I won’t!”
“You’re ripping my sleeve!”
“Something to remember me by.”
“Goodbye. Don’t call.”
A draft blew through the room. Stacey looked around, and saw that she left the window open. As she walked over to the window, she caught the remains of her cellphone in the corner of her eye. Like every other day for the past week, she simply looked the other way. She walked closer to the open window, then stopped and turned around. Quickly, she scribbled a note to buy a new one.
“Stacey, I-“
“I told you not to call.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s over.”
“I never meant-“
“Fuck off.”
A magnet and a fridge. Where did people post notes before fridges existed? Stacey walked back to the open window and closed it. She returned to the couch and resumed stitching her coat back together. A loud noise emanated from the TV speakers, jolting her. Stacey looked down and saw that she had pricked her finger. Blood oozed out from the tiny wound, so she ran to the bathroom to find a bandage.
“Oh my god! Doctor, what happened?”
“It seems he slit his wrists in a suicide attempt. We’re still trying to save him in there.”
“I need to see him!”
“This isn’t really the best time.”
“Please, I need to see him!”
“Alright, go on in, but be careful.”
“Oh my god! All this blood!”
“We’re trying our best.”
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
With a bandage wrapped around her finger, Stacey returned to repairing her coat. A neatly dressed man on the TV was talking about how his towel was the best as all his competitors’ towels just got wetter the more they dried. But Stacey paid no attention to him; she was almost finished with her coat. The phone rang.
“Stacey, are you ok? I tried calling your cell but there was no answer.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re still waiting for you at the funeral. Are you still at home?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I can bring myself to going, I’m sorry.”
“I understand. I’ll come over later and we can talk.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
The needle went in one side of the fabric and out the other. After a few more passes, Stacey was done. The coat was as good as new. She took it to her room, put it on, and looked at herself in the mirror. One sleeve looked a bit longer than the other, but it was barely noticeable. She took off the coat and hung it up in her closet.
Another draft blew by. Stacey walked back to the window and saw that the latch had broken. Another thing to write on the note. She started to walk towards the kitchen, but stopped and turned back towards the window. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Stacey looked out her mourning window.
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"hope your future is full of weed and bitches"