My Little, White Room

(Originally a poem)

I'm in a box. A room all colored in white. A cover, a hiding spot, a place to watch from. The walls were the color of the garb that draped my body. I was a part of this room. I am melded into the room.

It was just me in the room. Me and that window that sat across the room from where I would sit. I would stare out the window. The scenes would change. Sometimes, I would see the sky. Sometimes, I would see people pass by. Other times, I see a scene. Of people pushing at my little window. Sneers and laughter. Of a married couple bickering and breaking things all around. Those times, if one of the broken objects hit my window, I would find wounds that were fresh on my skin.

But when the blood from the wounds hits the ground, when I open my eyes for a brand new day, the blood is gone. The wound is gone. And I'm back looking at that little window once more.

Sometimes, I walk around the little room. I slide my hands across the smooth, white walls. I run my fingers along the window's panes. I fiddle a little with the window's lock. However, I never unlatch that lock. I never push against the window to open. I never leave this little room. My little white room.

But then came that day...

That day when I looked out my window. A blur past the window and there, a boy had been knocked to the ground. A white flash and another white room appears from my window. I stand up and see him, sitting in the white room. A white button down shirt and a white pair of pants that meld him to the floor he sat on in the room. He's in his own white box. His own white room.

He turns and our eyes meet but for a second. And another flash and he is gone.

I remain at the window sill, looking, searching for that other white room.

(Possibly To Be Continued...)