Complex Space
Jan 31, 2011
There is a feeling in the room, it can be sensed by anyone who walks in. Its attacks the newcomer like a think fog of emotion. The room is very small and very private. The room is laid out in a clean manner, yet it is untidy. The bed, situated in the comer of the room, has clean linens, but is not made. Dress shoes lie below the bed, but the polish is scuffed. The room is picked up, expect for some crumbs that lie on the blue rug and a few candy wrappers scatter on the floor. Open school books lie on the very small couch but no work has been done. The owner lies in another coner separated from the bed. He is scrunched up as tight as he can against the wall. He has lost something dear to him, but no tears run down his face, his eyes fixed on a box across the room. It's an old wooden cigar box, filled not with cigars but with memories of the past. The owner of the room hold an old crumpled piece of paper. as his knuckles lay limp on the floor. his head pressed up agianst the corner of two walls. HIs jaw lies open as if he has no energy to close it. the dust on the floor feels gritty and dirty, but the owner doesn't seem to care. He sees only his bed and the box left right above it. his thoughts are silent, not even he can hear them. Above him on one wall lies the window. It is opened as much as is physically possible and the cold breeze blows into the room.
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