Random free write

A good friend of mine challenged me to take 20 mins a day, to do a simple freewrite every day. So here is day 2.

I think I’ve always been locked in this room. The top of my world is a chunky, cottage cheese texture, that feels a bit powdery when I touch it. The sides are a smooth beige, with just a hint of gloss to it. Here and there are little marks where the brush left too much paint, drying into ridges that create small shadows. I like to run my fingers over these little lines, tracing them over and over. There is one part of the wall where a hole was made, then patched over with thick swaths of white paste. This part is the same powdery dry as the ceiling and I hate it. I get frightened when I run my fingers over it.

The floor is a puzzle of small blue chunks of stone and glass, each one a different shape and shade. Some are shiny, some are dull, but all are blue. A few of them are chipped and the grout around the ones by the door is missing, from when the waters came in. The water didn’t scare me; it made my floor look like the ocean. My favorite stone is a tiny one near the side of my bed. It is a little triangle, no bigger than my big toe, with one corner rounder than the other two. The blue of this one is a dark, dark shade, almost black. One day, I realized if I stared at it long enough and tilted my head just right, I could see tiny silver flecks in it, glittering in the lamplight. Sometimes, when it gets too loud, I stare at that stone and try to count the bits of silver light inside it. I always lose count.

I walk the circuit of my room every day, from the edge of my bed in the corner, around and into the bathroom in the corner. All along the walls, there is a bit of paint that is a little shinier than the rest, where I keep my fingers on the wall as I walk, so I don’t fall. I like to trace the little stones and the gaps in the tiles by the door with my toes, counting each one, each day. Once, one of the little blue stones came free when I traced it with my toe. I picked it up and hid it in my pillow. I kept it secret and safe until it was taken away from me. I cried for a day when they took the stone from my hand.

I don’t like the door. I can’t touch it, so I don’t understand it. The metal looks like it was brushed over and over with a very fine toothed comb, until it became a man sized wall of dark grey and silver lines. There is no handle on this side, just a small shelf mounted to it that my meals come in on. The tray is wooden and goes through the little opening to the other side, where the food and supplies come from. The door goes from the blue stone floor to the ceiling, so wide across that I can’t touch both sides at the same time. Sometimes I hear voices on the other side, but never for long.

I dunno. Sleep well everyone.