So Many Windows

    So many windows: hundreds, thousands perhaps, each with its own version of the blistering sun. Cheap facsimiles are all too common in a world content with producing pop stars like automobiles. Purposeful strides and the clicking of heals.
     Motion-censored revolving doors churned with ease; more for show than anything else. My attire drew more than a few looks. Maybe I was an extravagant trust fund baby or a rock star. Beautifully empty. Years of planning, millions of dollars, and still hollow. Marble, gold, and uniforms accented the cold interior.
     Somewhere, high above, huge machines labored tirelessly to produce the comfortable atmosphere. Too entitled to notice the conveniences and indulgencies they enjoy, everyone found something to complain about. Hypocrites overcrowded the elevator. I took the stairs. In a society strictly opposed to exercise and hard work, the stairwell lacked luster yet produced desirable results.
     Long corridors stretched the top floor. Each door exactly like the one before. Over and over and over. All under one roof and still so alone.
     Bursting into a run, I sprinted down the hall. Light poured in through huge windows at either end of the hallway. Is this what people were fighting for? My strides quickened and I ran with everything. I leaped forward into glass, and one cheap facsimile burst in to a thousand shards of reality.
     Gravity jerked me downward. I imagined the crowds below, what they must think, if they ever think at all. Cynical even in death- I blame the media. The deafening rush of air muted the world below, now and ever since.
     Pavement again, hot under my feet. So many windows: hundreds, thousands perhaps, each with its own version of the blistering sun.