Outside the window there are thousands of things. There are trees, there’s the wind, there’s the moon and the stars and the animals and the airplanes and the streetlights. There’s cars lined against the side of the road, parked nicely and quietly. There’s many a person or two in their backyard settling down after the day. There are a thousand things. And yet it’s the things that aren’t there that worry me. The things I think could be there that terrify me. What if there’s someone watching me from the window? Those red eyes and twisted expressions… Or they’re just standing in the backyard? Or creeping around on the roof, about to launch themselves at the window before breaking in and starting the apocalypse. Or maybe it’s not even outside of the window… maybe it’s already in the house. Maybe it’s in the shadows, having already crept in under the noise of the brewing storm. Maybe it’s about to grab me… But despite my masochistic imagination, I keep looking outside the window and there is still nothing there than what already was. Those thousand things that are all real and not part of my frantic mind. All outside the window.