This Empty Room


This empty room is filled with things.

There are stacks and stacks of papers and files. There are mountains of forgotten toys and dress-up clothes. There are old shoes, some unused, other’s with soles worn through to the floor in all sizes. There’s a wardrobe full of wigs and a rolling clothes rack filed with wings. There’s a vanity mirror in the corner draped with jewelry, crowns, and cluttered with make-up. On the wall behind the vanity mirror there is a collage of masks in every shape and form making the wall invisible. There’s a velvet chair in front of the wall with a stack of dresses pilled to the ceiling. There’s a pair of roller skates, a skateboard, a pair of skies, a parachute, a surfboard, a bicycle, and a scub-suit piled next to the chair. There’s a corner filled with swords, daggers, shields, arrows, bows, armour, knives, axes, hatchets, harpoons, ray guns, light-sabers, and laser beams. There’s a chest sitting open spilling out every kind of tea imaginable. Next to the chest is a nest made of the most comfortable blankets and pillows ever to have grazed bare skin. There’s a mass collection of unlit candles all combined into a certain solid fragrance. There’s a record player with milk-crates bursting with records old and new surrounding it. Everything is covered in dust, except the very centre of the room. There is a circle on the floor where someone has been sitting. The mind is troubled by the emptiness. The circle, if filled, would be facing one wall. And this wall is completely covered, floor to ceiling, left to right with stories.

They are stacked and piled and forced together brimming over the space they’re allotted. Some have been so compressed that they have been pushed together, melding one story with the next. More and more are added to the pile and none of them can escape. None are allowed out or viewed or payed any attention to. The stories are restless and tired of their cramped home. They want to live outside the room, outside this clutter. Each individual needs to breath and yet, they’re forced back into the claustrophobic stack.

The room is shut up by Responsibility, by Expectation, and by Obligation. The three of them sit guarding the door, pushing up against it so nothing can escape. They guard the room with the hopes they all their needs will be met before that door can be opened. But their greed is excessive and they will never want the door to open. Don’t let them out, don’t let them in. The three keepers hold everything, letting nothing seep out over the brim. 

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