August 14- This is my first entry. Maybe one of many, but possibly the only one. I’ve not got much to talk about. They keep me here in this room. It’s white…and rectangular. I’ve got a small, white twin bed in the back left corner which I am currently sitting on. There is a white toilet in the back right corner. The only other thing they supplied me with was this pencil and this notebook here that I am writing with and on (again, both are completely white except for the tip of the pencil). I’m not sure why they supplied me this. I only got them a few days ago. They don’t seem to encourage writing, per se. But on the other hand they don’t seem to discourage writing. Isn’t it silly now that I was writing ABOUT what I was writing ON? I just realized how silly that seems. What’s even sillier, though, is that I just asked a question to no one. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe I’m crazy. Which brings us to another point: why am I here? (I just did it again, asked no one a question and used “us” rather than “me,” how quite silly of me indeed). Honestly, though, I’ve no clue why I’m here. I’ve no memory except for this place and I am well past childhood, adolescence, and even most of adulthood. Therefore, something must’ve happened previously in my life which would’ve brought me to this place. I’ve often wondered if I was a normal person before coming here. Although I don’t really have any sense of the word “normal.” I don’t know, though, maybe this is normal and I am indeed living a normal life. But there must be some sort of normality beyond these walls. The nurse who comes in here seems normal enough albeit very grumpy. She won’t even tell me her name. Once I even told her she had pretty eyes. She merely replied, “Just eat you food, man. Just eat your food,” or something along those lines. At least she can go outside these walls.
Oh yes, I forgot to mention I have a window. It has a nice sill. It’s big, too. It opens up to this big pine tree with dirt and wood chips below. It was quite spectacular upon first sight. But it becomes rather mundane after four or so years of captivity. I can also see three other rooms just like mine which surround the tree. There are three other people just like me. One woman and two men. On rare days we all come to our windows and just stare at each other. When the three people aren’t watching I sometimes come to my window and dance. I don’t think anyone’s seen me yet. But I get a good laugh out of doing it every time.
They give us white clothes to wear. One outfit. Everyday the nurse comes to give us a new one and take the other away. Everyday I expect the new one to be different. Possibly not white. Or at least a different pattern. But it never happens.
The one good thing about life is the rose I see. Whenever the nurse opens the door to my room I always try to catch a glimpse of the beautiful red rose. It’s always out of reach, though. It always will be. Unfortunately the nurse, on most days, comes in so fast and closes the door so fast behind her that I don’t see the rose. Those are the sad days. And they happen more often than not. I generally go months without seeing the rose. But when I do I have great weeks. Just knowing that I saw it. I know it’s the same rose, too, because I’ve studied it. Even though I only catch glimpses of it, I know the patterns of that rose. It’s a mystery to me how they keep it alive so long. Well, I must go now. The nurse should be coming in any minute now. I think she knows that I want to see the outside. But she doesn’t want me to. Stupid nurse, anyway. I’m not crazy. They made me read that story. In fact, it’s what made me want to start writing a diary. She doesn’t want to stop me from seeing outside. She wants to stop me from going outside. That much I know is true.
December 27-It’s been quite some time since I’ve written in here. But honestly, nothing has happened. I’ve only seen the rose once since the last time. Same rose still. I didn’t realize Christmas had passed until I asked the nurse the date. That’s about all she’ll ever tell me. I also came to the realization that I knew what Christmas was. So obviously before I came here there was Christmas every 25th of December. I remember things like this. Important things or dates. I certainly hope this is not normal. This life, I mean. Well I must be going once again. I’ll put this notebook and this pencil under my bed possibly for months, again.
December 28-Something happened. I know I said that I probably wouldn’t write anything for a long while and it’s only been a day (and how unrealistic that it was just a day after I said I wouldn’t write much). Less than that even. I woke up today expecting the same bitter, beautiful nurse. But today it was different. She opened the door, unabashedly. Leaving it open for me to see anything I desired. I was perplexed, puzzled, at a loss for words. Then I noticed it wasn’t the same nurse. Not just in actions. It really wasn’t her! She came in beaming with a smile on her face. Something I’d never seen from the previous nurse. She’s portly. She wears the same outfit but made for portlies. She’s very motherly, as well--probably in her seventies (but full of life). I asked her questions and she actually answered with something other than “Eat your food, man”. And the food! My goodness, the food! What was that other nurse serving me? It was wretched, horribly wretched--something ordained for pigs. But this! There are no words to describe it! I think I will quite enjoy having her around for a long time. Hopefully she’s here longer than the last one. Although the last one was here for over four years. Twenty of this one would suit me just fine. Nevertheless she’ll probably end up dying--as cynical as that sounds it will most likely happen fairly soon. But however long she stays as the nurse will be a great time.
I do hope, though, that the rose comes back. It’s the only variety I get. White gets sickening after a while. Even the nurse now has white hair. And I’ve seen the tree and dirt so often that they’ve become as good as white. The red rose is all that keeps me going. |
Submission Name: Morose Thorn (Chapter 1)
