The Room

The Room
By: E. R. Ward

Was he awake, asleep, in limbo?  Wherever he was it didn’t matter, the feelings were the same.  The gloom hung in the air of the small beige room.  It was thick, thick enough that he thought he could actually see it.  This dreary feeling would not leave him alone.  It clung to him like a wet towel.  It was heavy, cold, and he couldn't shake it off no matter how he wanted to.  He huddled himself up into a ball to try and warm his insides.  His shoulders ached from being hunched over from the weight of his loneliness, begging for him to straighten up and raise his head.  He closed his eyes tightly, trying to clear his mind and wake up, if he was asleep at all.  He went to bed and that’s all he remembers, but this was to real to be a dream, it was too palpable and tangible.  He covered his ears and tried to calm the thunderstorm of confusion that raged inside his head, but nothing changed.  Nothing ever does, no matter what he does.

The small room looked more cell like than anything.  Square plain, everything was beige and dull – the walls, carpeting, ceiling.  All that was in the room was a large black leather armchair he sat in and a long coffee table that was scratched and chipped.  The finish was worn off and water marks stained the table everywhere giving it an eerie look of symmetric perfection that was simply impossible.

He looked around the box he sat in, but nothing changed.  He looked back towards the table and saw an hourglass.  It wasn’t there before, but there it was.  It was two feet tall and filled with white and black sand, the black was falling like rain into the bottom chamber and the white sand sat on top waiting for its turn.  He stared at it, mesmerized by the small sand dune that was forming as the crystals rushed through the bottleneck that separated the large teardrop shape glass chambers.  Either end was bordered by a round base with intricate carving he could not make out.  The three braces that ran along the hourglass itself followed the contour of the glass and it had serpent heads at either end, looking into the glass as to alert the viewer what was happening.

He shook himself from the trance he was in and again looked around the room – nothing.  The room matched his feelings – there were none, nothing made him happy, sad, angry, inspired.  Nothing he did mattered, no one noticed, his life did not change, recognition did not exist.  Hard work had encompassed his life and it did not matter. 

"What did I forget to do?"

Visions of his life ran through his head as he feel into a trance of a different kind.  Childhood, friends, family, adolescence.  Some visions made him smirk, most did nothing for him, and some he did not think were from his life.  The people changed, grew older, some died, a few died too young.  Sadness pulled him deeper into this abyss of despair he felt, what was next, his mind wandered again.  Marriage, career, family.  Tears flowed at the sight of his wife and kids, but that was it.  Nothingness crept back into his heart as the visions faded.  He did not think his life was flashing before him, but he didn’t know for sure. 

He glanced back at the ornate hourglass that was counting down to the last few crystals of white sand.  In the bottom teardrop a beautiful black and white sand dune formed that seemed to reach up towards the oculus above it in an attempt to grab the last few grains of sand as they fell.

"What now?" 

What was going to happen when the sand ran out?  What did it mean?  Would he die, wake up, would his life change, will his right rewards come?  The last few pieces of glass and rock fell obscenely slow, he thought they even stopped to defy gravity for a second or two.

"What was that?"

A noise sounded from behind the drab walls that imprisoned him.  He looked around but saw nothing.  What was happening, the hourglass emptied and now a noise, what was next?  Would he feel something – pain, joy, love, devastation?  The room fell silent and the man calmed his nerves as best he could.  He settled back into the leather chair and breathed deeply, still looking around for the source of the sound – nothing.  He glanced towards the hourglass, his heart raced, his head throbbed and his pulse quickened – FLIPPED.  The sand was again flowing from the top into the bottom, but the sand was normal, everyday, tan sand.  The white and black sand was replaced with normal sand, almost like the previous occupants hand joined to create this new filler.

"Why am I here?"

Was there a purpose to this place, the hourglass, the noise?  How did the ancient timepiece flip itself and restart its countdown?  What did it mean, or did it mean anything at all?  The man closed his eyes to try and wake himself if he could.  An uncomfortable feeling arose within him that told him to escape and free himself from this room.  He opened his eyes and jumped from the chair at what he saw - a window.  It had appeared on the wall opposite of him suddenly, and without sound.  An uneasy rumbling began in his gut and the man could taste the bile crawling up his throat.  He swallowed hard and again scanned the room for anything, or anyone.  He was sweating now, the drips of water making him feel even colder.  The room seemed to be robbing him of his body heat, his feelings, his life. 

"Why a window?"

One small square, four-paned window seemed to stare back at the man.  There was no top or bottom to the window, no latches hinges, or locks – just a window made out of dull weathered wood.  The scene beyond the window kept changing so the man could never make out what he was looking at.  It looked like a movie stuck in fast forward, images that could never be identified. 

A strange calm had come over the man suddenly, so unexpected he again looked around the room for the cause – nothing.  As time dragged on the man began to again dip into the subconscious isolation that he felt brought him here in the first place.  The images in the window began to slow and he could now see a strange combination of people, scenery, and buildings – none the he could identify with any certainty.

A quick glance towards the water-marked coffee table revealed the hourglass emptying once again.  For a second time he was questioning what would happen, death, rebirth, heaven, hell, or an awakening.  The last crystal fell from the teardrop chamber and into the bottom.  In slow motion the man watched the final grain of sand hit the peak of the miniature dune.  The man saw it hit the apex and heard the crystals meet with explosive force.  The walls shook, the floor rumbled and the ceiling cracked. 

"What was happening?"

Earthquake, tornado, his imagination.  The images in the window slowed now, but he could not make it out, the plaster and dust from the disturbance hampered his view.  The hourglass rose off the table slightly and hovered before turning end over end, accelerating as time passed.  Suddenly a bright light came from the timepiece and the hourgalss exploded brilliantly scattering sand everywhere.  The man covered his eyes as he instinctively made his way towards the small square window.  The sand in his eyes kept him from seeing the image left on the now still glass pane, but he pressed on.  The ceiling began to crumble and the walls were now falling apart.  The man’s prison was destroying itself, or was he?  The window was in front of him now, he brushed his eyes to see whatever he could.  The image scared him to the bone, it staggered him to the point of falling over.  He suddenly forgot about the chaos around him.

"Why am I looking at myself?"

A window, a mirror, what was it?  The image resembled him, but it was not exact, it was older, sad, wrinkled, but he knew it was his face.  The room went dark and he fell over, all he could see was this image of his older self looking back at him.  Suddenly there was only blackness and nothing.

Am I dead?  The hourglass, window, what did it mean?  Is it too late?  Too late for what?

Falling slowly he came to suddenly aware of his surroundings.  A small beam of moonlight found its way through the small window in the cement wall.  He sat up in bed and sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  He spalshed water on his face from the small sink next to the bed, and walked over to the narrow window.  After a short glance out into the yard and another towards the bars of his cell the man sat back down on his small bed and laid back down. 






                                                                               © E.R. Ward June2007