Seen through a window - first draft

Well here goes....

Rebecca looks out of her window onto the street. It is raining so hard that it looks as thought the droplets are dancing on the pavement. She watches people rushing past, some occasionally glance up at her but nobody looks for long, not in this weather. She sees a woman hurry past with a small boy, holding him close as if to protect him from the rain. A man walks past in a suit, on his way to work, shielded beneath an umbrella large enough that it could easily cover three people and yet he walks alone. Two girls come into her shop, they look no older than nineteen. Their skin glistening and their brightly coloured hair drenched, they look around but she knows that they are here more for shelter than for the clothes hanging up on the rails. One of the girls complains to her friend about the British weather and how it never changes. ‘Always cold and miserable,’ she says. ‘When we finish Uni, lets move somewhere hot. Like Australia,’ her friend replies, ‘we can have a house near the beach and cook barbecues every day, and in the evening we can sit and watch the sun go down together.’ They both giggle at the thought of this. Rebecca continues to look out of the window as if she has not heard their conversation, whilst one of the young Saturday girls rings up their purchases on the till. She watches them as they walk past the window with their freshly bought umbrella, huddled together as though no one could tear them apart. She wishes she could be young and carefree like that. They have their whole lives are ahead of them, whereas she feels she is doomed to stay in this shop until the end of her days, watching people living their lives with enjoyment. She wishes that she could run out of the shop and onto the street outside. That if she felt the rain fall down upon her she would know how it feels to be alive. She would not complain about the cold or about getting her clothes wet. She would dance in the puddles that have formed on the pavement and then look up at the clouds as they rained down on her face and hair. But she cannot, so will carry on watching people as they continue past her. She feels like weeping, for those people who do not appreciate how lucky they are, and for herself. Eventually the number of people walking past the window gets smaller and it becomes time for the shop to close. They doors are locked so that the shop can be made ready for the next day. An assistant walks over to her, ’Well, Rebecca, its time to get you ready for tomorrow,’ she says and as she undresses and dresses her again she does not notice the tear running down the mannequin’s face.

...ahem... well let me know what you think.