The Window

Tom bolted up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He turned and looked at the clock on the bedside table. He threw back the covers, planted his feet on the cold wooden floor, and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. After a night of tossing and turning and dreams, a strong cup of black coffee was what he needed. As he waited for the coffee to finish, he sat at the table by the window and stared out into the early morning.