Behind the Green Window – The story
I painted this at lunch today and was going to write a mystery or story to go along with it. If I get time yet this evening, I hope to write something to go along with it. But until then you can use your own imagination.
It was closed, always closed, no one remembers ever seeing the inside of this dwelling through the green window. We’re not even sure who or what lives in this house with the green window, but we do know sometimes at night, there is movement. A flash of light, blinking from the knot hole in the shutter, blinking like the eye of a mystery. Village myths and beliefs scare people to the point of no investigation, not even curiosity has tempted those who would dare. Stories of images, ghost in the night, coming up from the river that runs behind the house and entering through the cellar door, but never seen again. No screams, no cries of pain, just silence, and the late night blinking light through the knot hole. Are these ghost from the present war among our brothers, brothers fighting for the freedom of others, entering the home, the gate of hell, and the flames from hell blinking from the knot hole in the green shutter as they enter the gate. The only sounds, are the sounds of chains, as the ghostly images approach the cellar doors and the whispers so soft, so careful, that chills run up and down the necks of those who hear. I believe this dwelling is the home of freedom, freedom for those who have earned freedom. Maybe it’s the gate into heaven and the blinking light is the eye of God excepting them into heaven. After all some of the images from the river were children, mothers with their baby in arm. Why would innocents go or be drawn to the gates of hell. But why, why at night? Why only since this God forsaken civil war and why from the river, as though ants escaping from a flood of fear. It’s got to be heaven, the shadows rush into the dwelling as though it’s their last chance to see freedom, and yet with a slight movement of hesitation. I guess heaven or even hell might be a better place to go, than to live in this place of war, a place where brothers turn guns on each other, fathers turn their guns on sons, a place where ignorance and racism pulls the finger back, the finger that with one smooth, simple movement, can take away the life of another man. There are times and reason to pull those triggers, there are reasons and beliefs that are worth fighting for, and I believe this is a reason. If the gates behind the green window are the gates for freedom, for those who have chains holding them back, for those whose freedom has been taken away, I to will allow the freedom behind the closed green window, continue.
This story is just that a story, but here in Evansville Indiana the Underground Railroad for black slaves ran through several homes. Coming up from the river and entering through tunnels or sneaking through the woods at night, entering homes of brave, beautiful people, and hopefully never seen again until freedom was theirs. This is a story of many people, not just in America, but all over the world. Someday the need for places like this may not be needed, but until then, may the light of hope keep blinking through the knot hole of the green window.