There once was a window who had no name, but we just called him No
Named Tim. He is a very quiet window. No Name Tim is also very clean, for nobody comes to look outside of him and smudge their filthy fingers all over him. Tim is not dusty at all even though no one has ever seen anybody clean him. Maybe that’s because Tim is a new window, but he could be an old one. No one has really bothered to ask. I’m not quite sure if Tim knows how old he is.
Tim is very sensitive. We don’t know much about him except for the fact that Tim’s parents left him at an early age, giving him to a local phone book company. I believe that everyday he looks outside thinking about what his parents were like. He watches the behavior of other windows who have a normal life and how they compare to his life. All Tim really wants, all that he craves is honestly just to have the assurance that others accept him. He has one friend that is always honest with him; he has someone that he could tell anything to. This friend is a bird that comes to visit him everyday. The bird knows everything about him; Tim has spewed out all of his secrets to the bird for consolation. The bird can see right through Tim. The bird is here right now in fact.
Tim asked the bird how it was doing, but the bird didn’t answer. Tim asked how’s the weather, but the bird didn’t respond. No Name Tim was very confused. “The bird always responded,” Tim thought in his head. “Something must be wrong with it today.” Tim stared intently at the bird as if he was trying to finish the world’s most difficult crossword puzzle. Then he realized why the bird didn’t respond. It wasn’t the same bird. “Wait, it’s never been the same bird, has it? Of course not! Birds don’t talk. That would be absurd.” Then Tim thought that it would be absurd for windows to talk. Now Tim can’t talk. Now Tim can’t talk. Tim then realized that windows can’t think. Now Tim can’t think. Then the writer thought that this is where Tim’s origin should end. It needed to be locked away before he soon realized how absurd everything really is.
Why is anything anything?