It was a cold autumn. The weather had been gloomy and hazy for the past two weeks. The sun had barely been visible off the grey clouds covering the entire sky. Mountains, white with snow, were barely visible on the horizon. He could tell it was autumn, for his house was near the central park. The pathways covered with yellow leaves, the trees bare and people drinking coffee and reading books or poetry sitting on the benches. His room was the one that had an unusually large window that faced the park. He loved watching out from the window, looking at the street below and at the park. He had spent many days staring pointlessly out that very window, pondering over some meaningless things.
Right now it was cold and quiet. There was no wind, nothing. He could hear the crunches of the leaves, when people walked on them. The fire was crackling in the fireplace in his room, presenting a warm cozy feeling. The floor was wooden but had a big Persian carpet in the center. There were bookshelves, a study table with a small oil lamp, decorated candle sticks and of course his majestic bed. He had that room since the very day they moved into this house. He had the whole room to himself and barely left it. Being alone was something he was used to. He’d spend the day reading, writing and looking out that very window.
He wasn’t fond of meeting people. He couldn’t recall the last time he actually met someone. The butler would bring all the necessaries from the market while the house maids maintained everything. There were absolutely no visitors in this house. He was really young when they moved in this house. He couldn’t recall much of it; he’d just remember it as a really gloomy time. Moving had never been easy for him; going to a new school, adapting to a new life, meeting new people and making new friends. He found out an easier version of life, by being alone and not bothering himself with such worldly rituals.
He despised the modern society; he despised science and the new inventions coming in year after year. He thought of it to be more like a devils way of communicating and cursing the common man. He never got married, never had children of his own. It was just him alone, all those years, and sitting in his room, staring out that large window, waiting for his life to end and put him out of this miserable place and take him to a better one, but life is neither cruel nor easy. He couldn’t recall how long it had been.
Life is basically a set of events and happenings that twist and turn on the basis of your perception and response, which in turn devise a psychological factor called personality. Everyone has his or her own ways of dealing with life. Today we will be looking into the case of Mr. Henry. He had seen a long and a difficult life. The details of his life were now fuzzy even in his own memory. He remembered most of the tragic times yet none of the happy times.