Transition

Transition

The Room

I can’t take it any longer, every hour every moment passes by while I am still here lingering, waiting for someone to knock, open the door or even speak to me through the gaps a person who never comes. It is only silence a painful one at that which indulges me through my times in this room. Who and what brought me into this room? No one to answer this question for me, I don’t even know if I am capable of having a conversation with another human being, or even a pet. All this time I have been talking to myself like a lunatic using this old recorder I have since I was a kid. I never even checked if there was a tape inside this old thing the disappointment would ruin me. I sat in this white room that doesn’t gather any speck of dust on it is wall, it is as clear as snow, filled with old toys I had growing up a remote controlling car that is deteriorating, teddy bear, I believe I was obsessed with as a kid, and a bouncy ball. I don’t even remember how it got here or who brought it. Of course in another corner there lies the books I read which taught me a lot regarding various subjects, math, English literature, and science. Everything I learned from the books are only an image as if I was reading fiction from another dimension. My bed, which is also white, placed in the middle of the room surrounding it what I mentioned before. It is the most magical thing in this room I never felt that I have outgrown my bed. I don’t even remember when did the realization struck me that I was stuck in this room, but I believe I was young, a toddler maybe and never once with my growing body felt that my bed was too small.

Dreams keep shifting, changing every time a day passes, and every once in a while a dream struck in my mind unable to escape. Once a dream of a chocolate world where everyone is made out of chocolate and we are all dancing under the sun. The magic and wonder slowly fades and the chocolate world turns into a chocolate fountain, the found into a bar. Speaking of Chocolate a reoccurring dream keep popping up or two in fact. One where an old sweet lady gives me, a lost boy wondering, worrying where am I , a chocolate bar and she keeps reassuring me that everything is going to be okay. Another one where an old man takes my hand an walk me through the rushing cars. Every time I wake up after having this dream I feel reassured, at ease, and warmth filling my soul. All the thoughts of me being alone vanishes into the oblivion or transforms into curiosity or wonder. “Is that really a dream, or a supressed memory?”.

My day starts when I wake up and stare at the white ceiling, its purity allure me, time passes and the will to get off bed demise. My brain is fuzzy every time this happens, filled with questions and doubts. I stare at the white nightstand nothing is on it just the mix tape and a lamp. I rested my back on the headboard staring at the wall. Nothing on it except a mirror, I remember when I was a kid I dreamt of reaching it, I tried jumping tippy toing, or standing on a chair, I was ecstatic when I was able to touch its frame. Now when I reached the height to look at my reflection, it sickens me, I wish I could break it take a piece of glass and turn this white room into red, but I can’t , fear overwhelms me. What would happen to my body if I die, is there going to be someone who will take my body out and burry me, or will it rot and decay like my childhood toy. It is funny how suddenly a person can think of death, and the idea of death itself isn’t what worries a person but what’s next. Do others feel the same?

I put my legs on the cold floor and pulled my weight to get up, my body is heavier each and everyday, after getting out of bed I inspect the room, each and every nook. To look for a gap between the walls or a hidden door I could use to get out. Same as always of course my search was useless. I sat on the floor leaning my back on the bed. Stared at the wall and nothing on that wall except a clock. Teaching myself how to know the time was one of the hardest task and lessons, especially since there was no one to tell me what is wrong or right. What makes things harder is that the clock has no numbers, only the 12,3,6,9. I don’t even remember why I found it important at a young age to learn that time flows, and it flows in an  alarming rate. The day passed in an instant, and the day was filled with numerous activities, and I had no problem repeating them each and every day, in fact I sometimes slept restless waiting for the next day to come to repeat the same things. Now I wish the time would just stop, the pressure being stuck in here, the pressure of not being able to enjoy what is out there, dying before ever doing so suffocates me. I am sure the outside will be glamorous, many nice people with dreams, many activities done by including so many people. I am sure of that. Now my entertainment revolves around talking to myself and looking at my reflection to see how I look like. My face was as pale as snow, my hair was long and black, my eyes are dark brown, and my facial hair is patchy.