White Room
a room. surrounded by four walls. painted white. and no door.
a man. pacing through the room. lost. alone. afraid. there is no one
to turn to in isolation. the only one youll find is yourself. and you
can never get away from that.
an hour in this room. just an hour. it drives a man insane. four
walls. painted white. no door. just a room.
eight corners. four walls. a floor. and a ceiling. everything white. it
drives a man insane. pacing the floor. waiting.
waiting for what. its just an hour. sixty minutes. three thousand six
hundred seconds. one twenty-fourth of a day. one hundred sixty-
eighth of a week. waiting.
a man. pacing through the room. his clothes are white. his skin is
white. though he thinks it might have been painted this colour.
waiting. pacing. examining the four walls. eight corners. ceiling.
and floor. all perfectly smooth. emitting light. white light. making
everything seem white. or was it white to begin with.
hes been counting his paces. five. six. seven. only he stops every
once in a while and loses count. then he starts again. what comes
after five.
when alone with yourself you have no one to turn to. and no one to
turn away from. finding yourself only gets you lost. and theres no
one to help you find your way out again.
it drives a man insane. pacing the floor. waiting. five minutes. six
years. seven centuries. space is timeless. so whats an hour. but
sixty minutes. three thousand twenty-three seconds. one sixteenth
of a day. or two hundred ninetieth of a week.
no colour. everything is white. was there every such a thing as
colour. or was it something i dreamt. i cant quite remember
anymore. everything is white. or maybe its blue. i cant quite
remember anymore.
you start wondering about your past. alone in a room. pacing. in
the dark.
you remember when you were a child and got lost in a department
store. or was it the zoo. department store. something like a
grocery store. or. or. or.
one foot follows in front of the other. ive named them right and
wrong. wrong always goes first. then i make it right. wrong. right.
wrong. right. wrong. right. then i turn. thats the difficult part.
a room. surrounded by six walls. painted white. and no door.
pacing back and forth. one hour. painted white. right. wrong. door.
im trying to remember if it was my past i was remembering. or my
future. i cant really tell because i dont remember which memories
came first. i wonder if im growing up or down. up. down. what are
those things.
pacing. you have to concentrate when you do it. i like to count the
steps as i go. one. two. three. four. five. seven. right. ten. what
comes next. stop and start again. one. three. four. five. six. eight.
eight. eight. damn.
the walls are green. for some reason. my skin too. i remember
once painting it a tan colour. but i cant remember why. or what
colour that was even. too much green. six walls. no door.
walking through the room. pacing. why dont i walk on one of the
other walls. i quite cant remember anymore. walking. why am i
here. i cant quite remember anymore.
one hour. whats that. something with minutes. five of them. maybe
ten. but i dont remember what a minute is so thats useless.
eighteen years ago i was somewhere else. but i cant quite
remember where anymore.
something about a past. someone told me i had one. i never
believed him. everywhere you turn you find yourself staring back.
alone.
alone. six walls. what do they call it again. broom. one broom. six
walls. and something else.
alone. how can i be alone. everyone in the broom is here. and i am
that. i am not alone. not alone at all.
the broom. i dont know why im here. what this is. ive stopped
pacing. i lost count and then forgot how. standing. or sitting.
whatever its called. here in this broom.
i feel a thumping. its slowing. afraid. if i knew what fear was. the
broom is changing colour. darkness.
one last question. is my hour up yet?