She rocked her body side to side on the floor, bare concrete. It was littered with assorted types and sizes of drawings, directly drawn onto the surface with a pencil or permanent marker.
She stopped, staring at the cracks in her ceiling as she lied on her back.
"....I'm stuck...nothing to think about...." She thought out loud, expressing her lack of mental ability.
She talked frequently, despite being alone most of the time. Whether it was just herself or there was actually somebody else there, she found it quite calming and soothing. Though she preferred her own company over anybody else's.
"It's like my brain took a vacation, ugh." The younger girl told herself, rolling onto her stomach and stretching her arm out to grab one of the many pencils sprawled out on the floor. It was a colored pencil, but she could try and make it work. She stuck the dulled end under her tongue. The long end stuck out of her mouth oddly, but why would she care? Why should she? Nobody was going to see her anyways. She pushed herself up so she was sitting on her legs and looked around her room, searching for something to pass the time as the colored pencil warmed up.
The walls would've been plain drywall, but her never-ending scribbles covered them up as if they were trying to be blackout curtains. It was a mixed-use of markers, pencils, and colored pencils and crayons, forming doodles or scribbles of a wide variety. Small scripts to plays she sometimes played out, acting her heart out as if she were entertaining eager crowds on Broadway even if the script was just about a boring desk job. Drawings that were contained in messily outlined squares and rectangles as if they were meant to be authentic paintings, hanging in art museums like The Louvre, admired by millions.
There was a princess bed (Link1:Bed)in the corner of the room, the small headboard and the whole left side pressed up against the wall. The bed itself looked quite used. The cheap, paper thin blanket thrown over the top was fading from its once vibrant pink, beginning to sprout new holes as it continued to wear over time. The mattress was dented heavily with the shape of the girl's body and void of any sheets, embracing the appearance of mystery stains and blotches since that's all it could do. There was no pillow, and the stickers on the bed frame were untouched; Y/N thought it would be disrespectful to take them off. She had no idea who they could be, but she assumed they were nice people. The plastic was still the same as when she first got it all those years ago. She could still reminisce about the pretty pink barriers from that time. Her soft, tiny body rolling around in her makeshift crib with sheets of OSB plywood bordering its frame, preventing her from falling.
There was a small bookshelf overfilled with books of a wide variety, that was where most of her ideas came from. They taught her common etiquette and how to go about her day. A large percentage of them were cookbooks, but the rest were a mix of business, drama, many 'for dummies' books, horror, and some casual slice of life. She had read almost all of them, she liked to memorize the books that taught and that's what took most of her time. She enjoyed reading and was eager to learn, it was one of the few things she was able to do. She wasn't allowed to leave her room. Her food supply was on top of the crowded bookshelf, it consisted of a few snacks and juice boxes. She was told to make it last, so she did. As a result, her stomach grew accustomed to small meals - easily sated and didn't growl very often.
There were two knocks on her door, a sickeningly sweet voice gaining her attention. She grew anxious and sat still, she couldn't run away from her. Where would she go? She didn't trust anybody enough, she didn't know anybody enough.
