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The window is a little scratched up today, but it has always been.

Everyone in Utilitarian Meadows is really friendly, we’ve always had a ball as the kids say, or used to say when I was a kid. Maybe the kids never said that, but what I do know is that my neighbours never looked frightened when they passed my house; it is probably the most modern house on the block, or maybe the dang country. I remember the little kids being scared of me while their parents told them Mr. Ludwig is friendly. To be fair to the little ones, nothing’s scarier than an old man with uneven scars over his graying knees and palm. The parents are the ones who are nervous when they see me now while the kids tell them Mr. Ludwig is friendly, I guess it’s because of my windows and the extra scar I got over my nose.

I don’t get why everyone is so worried about my windows. I would be lying if I said that I blamed them for not knowing why, but why would they even bother if not for theirs?

My house is up in the Utilitarian Meadows. They always ask why do you have such big windows?

They’re fine.

I’ve no need for such elaborate security systems, I’ve one-upped the lot with my big windows in my living room; six floor-to-ceiling windows to be precise. They might seem to be begging for perverts to catch a glimpse at whoever is inside and what they have, but who would spy on a scarred old man watching his TV when they can hardly see him through the built-up scratches on the windows?

The people are nice and we get together for BBQs in the summer and hot cocoa in the spring because I get too cold to stay outside in the winter, but now they are a little nervous about the windows. I had always insisted that floor-to-ceiling is best, but my son always protested them, as did my wife and neighbours. They got scratched up so easily over the years and a lot more now that one of my five windows is impossible to see through. Ya gotta be careful with your kitties! "You don’ wanna have to replace them windows all the time", something that Ms. Helena said when walking her dog one day, so I thanked her and told her that it was fine. Besides, my cats never trespass on their friend’s territory and the marks are always from outside.

No one needs to be concerned about my windows when they will keep them safe.

Except for my siblings.

I had three siblings, triplets, but I can’t remember their names, so my wife always reminded me when I asked her. They are buried back in Ontario, but no one recalls the town and I am too old to travel that far just to visit three folks who are sixty years younger than me.

They made a big mistake when they picked a fight with Artie.

 

My brother and sisters were kind kids; all had the same black hair and sweaters with different collars, but I was “too old” for them and looked stupid with my big glasses. I loved animals and they teased me, their big brother, for asking our parents to adopt a cat even though I was almost ten years their senior. I have three now who I would’ve named after them if I could remember their names; they left the week after I was beaten up by Xavier and Rebecca.

They watched me moving a window; my chore for my sixteenth birthday. The synchronization the triplets possessed was commendable, always running circles around me and being a nuisance only when I did anything that involved holding anything fragile, but they never tried to hurt me. I think they loved me, but they loved Xavier and Rebecca more, which was always a problem when they would talk about all the fun they planned to have with them during dinner despite my parents’ protests. I wish I could only imagine the humility tied with your younger kin favouring your bullies over you. They especially got excited and started to point at me when the duo appeared on their matching blue bikes, not in a condescending way, just pointing at me like Karol did when she found out about my relationship with Artie; how could we blame them? I didn’t. They were only six.

Xavier and Rebecca came up to me and started circling me and pulling their bikes as if they were leading a horse by the reins. I never remembered what they said, only how Rebecca stood back and admired the glass, adjusting her hair, and how she started to laugh when Xavier rolled his bike into my back and all five nearly pissed themselves with how hard they bellowed as I collapsed to the ground with shards of glass piercing my knees and left palm and cheek. My siblings ran up, hugging Rebecca’s legs and joining in as Xavier started to stomp on the glass until it all dissolved into shards that rivaled the size of my nails; some had glass beneath them. They ran off as soon as dad screeched and mom roared down the road and screamed at my crying brother and sisters, who were somehow in the mindset that they were more victims then I; that I cannot deny when I looked at one large reflection of myself from the last large piece of glass sitting in a small pool of blood. My glasses were fogged up and cracked but I couldn’t cry. I always thought they would grow out of this phase, so I sat there looking more disappointed than anything else.

That night after I went to the hospital, my dad lectured everyone about how what happened to me was bad, but the trio never listened and just wailed until dad gave up and sent everyone but mom and I to bed. We sat and talked about taking legal actions against my bullies, even if their parents were a lot richer than we were and could probably counter-sue us. We left it there when mom remembered that the glass was still lying in our driveway.

I decided to sneak out that night with a broom and flashlight to wipe everything up. That was the same time I met Artichoke.

Artichoke was incredibly chubby and had greenish fur. He looked kind of like a bear with how he was sitting in our driveway in front of the mess, but his paws were wider and fitted with transparent claws; his legs were just a few centimeters longer too, the belly had a white spot, and a tail that mirrored a bunny’s. He was almost one of the cutest animals I had ever seen with how he just plumped down on his bottom with his front legs curled up and gave a small whimper somewhere between a fox and a chimp, but when he stood up I saw his face. He had two nostrils at the end of a long, skinless snout; his teeth were flat and stained gray except for six canines that rivaled the blades on his paws and the glass. They were unevenly spread across what I assumed to be a grin until I realized it must have been impossible for him to even shut his mouth completely. His eyes were a lighter shade of green than his fur, but they shined a dark orange in the night and had no pupils. I was horrified and amused when he tilted his head and let escape from his nose a gust of cold air. He walked towards me and began to sniff, his growl had a rattle when he looked at the glass as I scooped it up with the broom without looking away; I noticed he had scars across his legs and back and that his exposed bone looked polished; I had the feeling that there was never flesh there to begin with. He glared up at me and started to whimper again. I dropped my broom, and Artie dropped too, sweeping the glass shards into the dustbin that I was still holding firmly in my stitched hand.

I watched from the bleachers to make sure the triplets were not getting hurt when playing with Xavier and Rebecca. Sure, I was hurt by them, but they were my family. What was wrong if Xavier and Rebecca were kind to them? It’s not like they were nice to get at me, they had no idea I was sitting behind the growth over the fence. There was laughing and screaming between some teenagers and little kids, all enjoying the water guns that the two fiends just bought. Maybe I was okay because I had a crush on Rebecca; maybe it was because I knew somewhere inside that they were better older siblings than I was. I watched them, longing to be more than a punching bag and a punchline, but I sat out.

I was annoyed that I didn’t do anything, but as I walked in the twilight that night Artie was eating by the sliced up window of an old warehouse. He was gently tapping at the window with his claws, scraping the glass as he cooed at the trails he made, sticking out a yellow tongue and perking up wolf-like ears I had not seen before. Artie froze. His head snapped towards me, eyes unblinking. He dashed at me without giving me a chance to react, only to sniff me again. This time he gave a shout, an eerily human shout, and walked into the trees. The pattern on the window was beautiful, almost like a bouquet or a Renaissance painting overlooking the neat mounds of broken glass. I wanted to keep staring at the curatorial, but it was late and Xavier and Rebecca were walking towards me. Thank goodness Rebecca called me a dipshit and Xavier spat on me; it could’ve been worse for me, yet the same, probably not, can be said for those two when they scoffed at the lines on the windows and piles of glass. I remember how they assumed it was an inside joke about the window from the other day and proceeded to kick the pieces and tossed one giant rock into the artwork before fucking off when a voice from the trees shouted after the crash echoed in the dark.

I waited until they vanished before I snuck back to make a series of circles with the fractured canvas as Artie was whining over his disrespected passion from the trees.

Xavier and Rebecca weren’t in the street that afternoon. They always showed up at three on Saturdays before my parents got home to notice them dropping off my siblings after playing some stupid game that always ended with them not shutting up yet again at dinner about how good big bro Xavi and Sister Bec were to them that day. About an hour later Rebecca was leading her bike, but something was not right. The paint looked peeled off, the handles were damaged with the bell sadly clinking with every step Rebecca made and the back tire was deflating while my brother was awkwardly balancing on the seat. He looked hurt. I guessed they must have fallen over into a ditch and she wanted to bring my brother home so that I could call a doctor or something. They always ceased their antics when one of them got hurt; that must’ve been why my parents always made threats but never took action against them when they hurt me since they truly were great with them and never stooped as low as to blame me. I walked into the street and struggled to keep my eyes on hers when I realized that her clothes were torn at her arm and ankle. I stared at her tear-stained face for a few seconds before I looked down to realize that she had something protruding out of her chest before she and the bike with my brother fell to the ground. They died on the spot.

It was a shame, but they upset Artie and decided to return to the warehouse to throw some stones at it again with my siblings in tow. It was pretty big stuff for a while when five kids were killed by what was thought to be a bear or a psychopath, but it ultimately got forgotten while I left for the Utilitarian Meadows years later. After the incident, I was able to collect the “murder weapon” found in Rebecca’s chest; no one knew what it was and only thought it was a knife that was designed to resemble a fang.

 

I think my son is worried. He was a little suspicious that something was going on back when Karol left me. We disguised it as our marriage hitting a ghost hole, but it was strong ever since we met in the Meadows; the separation was when she found out about Artie following me for more than forty years. It’s safe to say our son had a disappointing birthday.

Everyone is worried about my five windows, so my son came over. I only told him not to break any windows so Artichoke would be his friend.

I sent him away along with my cats, but I know what’s next for me. I was reckless, I got old; I thought that Artie would be forgiving; his friendship is fragile.

I don’t know why everyone is concerned with my windows. Sure, theirs now have the same markings as mine, but they’ll be safe if they don’t break them, but I can’t tell them for much longer.

I fell through my floor to ceiling window last week and Artie is not happy.