Curt walked up to the window, knowing that he could never cross the quarter-inch thick glass to the other side. He pressed his face up against it, trying to get as close to the other side as he could.
He closed his eyes and imagined passing through the glass, face first, running to his prize. This drove Curt crazy. He opened his eyes and looked around for a hard object. He found that someone had used a hefty rock to weigh down a trash can lid across the street. Without even contemplating his actions, he was lugging the rock back across the street to the window.
As he gathered momentum rocking his arms back and forth, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass. His thoughts were catching up with his actions. He didn't want to think; it would drown out fire inside him; it would make him question whether it was really worth the trouble. Refusing reason and a second more of time, he threw the rock at his reflection... breaking it.
An alarm sounded, but he did not hear it. Faced with nothing but intangible air and his prize, something suddenly hit him. He was scared, very scared. He was about to obtain something he knew he would never have. He looked at it as it stared back, waiting to see whether destiny would be rewritten. Of course, destiny can never be rewritten; destiny is destiny. The object knew this, and it was only a matter of time before the man realized this.
It didn't take very long for the man to realize. He thought he had changed destiny, but he hadn't. The only thing he changed was the barrier preventing him from having the unobtainable object. He stared at the object in full desire but also in full inaction. The object stared at him, fully cognizant of their relationship and the destiny shared by the two. The man stared back.
The man averted his eyes as tears started streaming down his face. Fear capitalized on the opportunity and drowned him. Having broken eye contact with the object, his desire was engulfed in the imperfections of the world. He turned around and ran as fast as he could.
The object stared back at him, even as he was out of sight; its gaze the same as it always was: unchanged. It saw the desire, the passion, the rage... but was unmoved.
The object did not recognize him. For of what importance is someone to something destiny has not allotted for?
