In The Room

The room is empty. I sit, legs crossed, eyes ahead. I am transfixed with the blankness of the wall. The size of it is more than my imagination can grapple with. The entire room is white. There is no door knob. There is no window. There is no bench, or chair, or cushion upon which to sit. I am donned in white; white leggings that cover my feet, a white long sleeve leotard, white gloves and a white hood. I am here voluntarily, though I am now beginning to question my choices. I am forced to face nothingness. As white is the absence of color, so my brain shall become absence of thought. From that, I do not know what will present itself, but I can hope.

No clock in the room. Time begins to change shape. I am lying on my back, legs together, arms tucked in close to my body. I wonder how long I have been here. I feel no hunger, so perhaps it hasn’t been very long. But I have taken too many breathes to know that cannot be so. Time. Why has it become so important to me? I begin to feel an urgency to know what time it is, to know how long I have been here. I look at my wrist as if a time piece will magically appear. I realize I am looking for my sense of time. Like touch is a sense to the hands and sight a sense to the eyes. Where in my body do I sense time?

There is no sound save that of my breath. The walls have been sound proofed. Not just from the outside. I try to scream, but it falls flat. There is no umph in it. No echo. No depth. I’m standing, my belly and ear pressed hard against a wall. I strain to hear something, anything. I do not think I have ever fully appreciated how loud quiet is until now.....It’s deafening.

I can’t figure out where the light is coming from. It’s as if the room is lit by magic.

I’m still thinking.

I’m going back into the dream now.