captain_shev

In the house opposite my house there is a window with frosted glass. The light is always on and the curtain is never drawn. I can often see the couple that live there, but they can't see me, frosted glass being what it is. I can't see what they look like, but I can tell that she's a she, because she curves like country lanes. And I can tell that he's a he - he's more a motorway man. He moves fast, but he doesn't last as long as the motorway always seems to. Sometimes I see him at the bus stop, but I've never seen her outside the window. He recognises me now as the one that lives opposite and sometimes smiles at me, which I don't entirely like, because his teeth are slightly pointy. But I smile back, because it's polite and because I may need to borrow a hammer or something at some point and men often have that kind of thing in their house.
I can't understand why someone wouldn't ever shut the curtains. I can see all sorts of things, even through the frosted glass. Last night I saw a big dark patch on the woman's arm that may or may not have been a tattoo. Surely if I can see that, they must realise that they can be seen. Do all couples have this, their own world, that the illusory veil of privacy falls so strongly around? They must want to be seen. I know them so well now, this couple; intimately even, and yet I've never even seen the woman's face. I saw some shadows that must have marked out where her eyes were, once. They were really dark shadows too - the lighting in the room must be very stark.
I saw him again at the bus stop this morning and he spoke to me. I'd never heard his voice before and it surprised me, how light it was. For some reason I'd always thought he must have a fairly gruff voice, but really, it's not much deeper than my own.
"Where are you off to this morning, then?"
"Work, same as every morning."
"We see you all the time, yet never spoken to you. We often think we should get to know our neighbours more."
I smile politely, having nothing more to say, but he hasn't finished.
"I'm off to the doctor myself. Just an MOT, but the missus reckons I should get checked out."
I smile again, but this time it's because I like what he's said - Motorway Man is having an MOT. I think he misinterpreted though, because he didn't say anything after that.
That night the curtain is drawn for the first time I can remember. I can't get to sleep - not because I am uneasy, but (another first) I think I can hear them. I don't know why they'd bother shutting the curtains - I've seen them, or I think I've seen them (because it's difficult to be sure with the frosted glass) doing just about anything you'd care to name. I've even seen them arguing, but they don't do that very often. They must be shouting very loudly for me to hear all the way across the street. Actually, it seems to be only him shouting. Of course, I don't stay awake that long - it's only unusual, to hear and not see them.
The next night the light is on again, and the curtain open. Reassuring in a way, but not as much as it ought to be - I can't see either of them tonight. I hope they're both ok. My imagination leaps to murder (as it does occasionally, when there is nothing on the box). Perhaps he's killed her. Men sometimes to that to women - I have no experience myself of course, but everyone knows that most murders are committed by someone close to the victim... and women's bodies are softer and break more easily than men's bodies. Of course, neither of them are really dead - why would they be? Murder doesn't happen in small streets where you recognise your neighbours, doesn't happen to people you have seen, doesn't happen that quietly. But the idea stays in my mind, and I get angry. Really angry with the man (who of course hasn't killed anyone), because if he could do it then anyone could. Even I could, even though I only have a soft country-lane body that would break quite easily itself. I could get a hammer (I could even borrow it from friendly neighbours) and I could smash a skull in with a little effort. I could crack the bone and mash the brain. I could even use the claw end, if it wasn't such a disgusting mental picture. I could break someone if I tried, I'm sure I could. But of course I wouldn't, because I live on a small street and the neighbours recognise me and I expect it would be quite noisy.
The next morning, waiting for the bus as usual, I see her for the very first time uncovered by frosted glass. I don't know how, but she recognises me. And I recognise her as well, straight away - maybe it's the curves like country lanes, or the shadows under her eyes (which from this distance are livid purple and green around the edges). And she smiles at me, because she recognises me as her neighbour, but she doesn't speak. And I smile back, because I recognise her as well, and I recognise something else - that women's bodies don't break as easily as men's because they are softer. They bend, of course, and they can snap. But the really breakable bodies, the ones you can smash, are the straight-edged ones.
After that morning, the frosted glass window is empty.

Twilight767

I enjoyed your story, I felt the main character's emotions change throughout the story. He went from feeling curious to thinking he was doing something shameful. Yet he couldn't stop could he? He becomes dependant on the lives of his neighbors' as part of his own life. But once the illusion of seeing the female happens the spill is almost broken for him.

I found your description in the section when he doesn't see his neighbors through the frosted window as normal to be very well done. I felt him getting paranoid, yet trying to talk himself down.

I think you could make this into a longer story if you wanted too, I felt a little rushed as I wanted to learn more about the main character as he learned more about himself during his hours spent watching the neighbors through frosted glass.

Twilight

captain_shev

Ah yes, it was written to a 1000 word limit (for a uni assignment). I may just go back and expand it a little - I can see what you mean about the rushed feeling, perhaps some of it can be developed a bit more. And, no biggie, but the narrator was supposed to be a woman (as I am, this was the perspective I was writing from).
Thank you for your comments, they were much appreciated - I'll go back to it and see what I can do!

Chris Miller

I really enjoy your writing. That piece was more poetic than the other, but it worked. The bodies-as-roads metaphor was very well used. The ending was very cool, and kind of surprised me. I love how all the nasty stuff is dealt with so subtly, left almost totally to the reader: their sex life, her murdering him. Wonderful! You were right to be proud of this one.

The only question I had while reading was its tense. It seemed a little vague or awkward somehow, drifting in and out of the present. A short piece like this should work in the 1st person, present tense (my personal favorite) but it didn’t quite seem consistent somehow. I could be wrong of course. Will have to re-read.

Thanks again.

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gohn67

hey captain shev,
I liked it.

The country lane simile, I liked. Just a nice image and original.

The premise of this voyeur woman is pretty cool. I think people are naturally voyeristic, maybe that's why so many people like reality television. She seems to have gotten too obssessed with their lives and is busily trying to fill in the missing pieces, kind of like how the reader has to also.

I like her thoughts, they were interesting to read.

The ending was interesting how the wife finally came out without the husband, which makes me wonder if she killed him, but the only reason I think that is because of our paranoid neighbor who is bit too obssessed with her neighbors. She puts the thoughts into my head. Strange coincidence too that she comes out for the first, maybe she did kill her husband.

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captain_shev

Mm, I'm beginning to see all sorts of problems structurally - but now I'm not held to a word limit I'll fix them. Thank you for drawing my attention to the tense - I wanted to follow the couple over a few days, but there is no demarcation to show when time moves on. However, I don't want to change the tense - will have to think about it.

Thank you all for your kind comments, they're much appreciated - I've never posted my writing on the web before, mainly because it would feel slightly self-indulgent (in a fan-fic kind of way), but this forum is excellent - proper criticism, a mutual support thing going on - I think I'll stick around. Thank you guys, there's a great atmosphere around here!

erotic_cookie

That was really well written. I like it a lot because this is the first story in a long time that I was actually able to picture what was going on. Keep up the good work!

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Jimbob

Captain Shev,

Nice piece of work, and thanks for remembering us non-British readers.
One of my pet peeves is people who refuse to give locations or fill out that part with "at my computer" or something of that nature, and then procede to use what may be acronyms, slang, coloquialisms, or who-knows-what; or possibly just misspellings.

Jimbob

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BeYoNd WoRdS

Captain Shev,

Hi! I like this piece a lot. Especially the way you let the reader draw conclusions. You don't need to come right out and say what's going on because through the narrators observations we are figuring it out right along with her. ( I did understand the narrator to be a woman.)
Nice way to end it. You fought the temptation to spell it all out for us. I had to go back and read the ending a second time. But I like that.

Thanks for posting this.

-BeYoNd WoRdS

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Wyndstar

This was a nicely written piece, and I liked the voice here. Its almost that of a child when it starts; innocent curiousity that becomes more adult like as his adventures in voyerism progress, slipping seamlessly into paranoia and an overactive imagination. But it isn't overdone. It's wonderfully subtle, making the reader even a bit paranoid about what's happening to the couple across the way (gohn will be wondering about that possible dead husband now). And it doesn't go over long, losing my attention.

One question though; I thought voyeurers were more turned on when they knew someone was watching, so they would have stayed at the window--unless one of them was dead, of course.

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