September 20-Incredible. Fantastic. It’s early in the morning. The nurse has yet to come. The door is open. She left the door open…as though she were coaxing me to go out. I don’t want to be tricked, though. So I’ll stay here until she comes. If she comes. She will come. I know.
I haven’t fallen asleep all night. I’ve been staring at the rose. Or what I could see of the rose. It’s utterly bizarre. Almost eerie. Why, now, are they letting me look out as though nothing were restricted to me before? Why, now? They’re almost telling me to leave, to go outside my little white box that I’ve been trapped in for the past five years. Why, now? I almost feel as though they’ve made a mistake. Should I capitalize on this mistake and take that which I have sought after for so long? Or should I lay low and wait? Up until now I’ve laid low. I shall continue doing so in the same manner. I just can’t get over the fact that they would leave the door open. What a mistake they’ve made! Although now that I think of it, I’ve no clue who “they” are. I think I’ve just taken it for fact that there is an omniscient “they” running this place. Who else could be keeping me here? Certainly “they” are the best candidates. Those of which I know nothing about. This couldn’t be solely the nurse’s operation. Management wouldn’t have changed that often. I’ve only seen six people since being here. I guess I can see my own self. So that would be seven. Well I’ve made a long rambling paragraph haven’t I?
Who am I asking that to? Who am I asking THAT to? Who am I asking THIS to? I am insane. I must say. Why am I writing as though I’m telling someone? Who am I asking that to? I could go in an endless cycle but I’ll stop that nonsense here. For whose sake, man? Whose sake am I stopping the nonsense for? GAH! Stop it! The rose is out there. Light is creaking through the window. The roofs are low enough for light to come through. What light? Where does the light come from? “They” must create the light. With some mechanism. Bye.
Still September 20-I’ve touched the rose. Well, no. I lie. I was very close to the rose. Right up next to it, in fact. The nurse let me out. I was let out of the room. Why did they hire this girl? Am I supposed to leave? Was I supposed to be able to leave all along? I just asked her if I could go out and she said, “Go ahead.” I asked her again and she said “I demand it,” jokingly, of course. When I walked out of the room my eyes were solely focused on the rose. I saw nothing else. Literally, it was as though I were dreaming. I observed nothing more than that previously ephemeral object that I’ve grown to love so much. I inched my hand closer to the rose. All my hopes at that moment were about to be realized once and for all. But suddenly I looked up. I was outside. Outside the room. What was I thinking? What was I doing? Maybe everything was white or I was just too frightened to see any other color. I had gone outside! I never even thought about it, I just went. I AM crazy. Something that previously had been a thought. I just went. Why did I go? Why didn’t I second guess myself. I just went! My greed forced me through the door. I went and I did it. I was not rewarded for my efforts, however. My head pounded and my brow, condensing with droplets of sweat, began to become excessively heated. I walked back towards the room but my steps were sporadic and weak. The nurse saw my agony and tucked me into my bed which she had been making. I fell asleep. Exhilarating, though. Sheer excitement. I thought I’d never go outside. It’s not how I’d imagined it. Although the only thing I saw was the rose. It was nice seeing it so up close for once. I wish I hadn’t been so traumatized to the point where the surroundings were nonexistent. I have just repeated and contradicted myself in the last seven sentences. Nine if you count the last one I just wrote and this one. Although the last two don’t really repeat or contradict anything. Maybe the last one does. Repeat itself. Enough. Stop.
Was it frightening? Yes. Was it thrilling? Yes. I must build up more courage, though. More intestinal fortitude. Just the mere fact that I was outside made the thought of vomiting seem appealing. It’s time to sleep. There is no more light.
September 23-I’ve no tub. I’ve no sink. How have I not noticed these things. I really must have not bathed for these five years…AT ALL! And yet, there is no rancid smell. The smell is of nothing. It is air. I smell air. Not a grimy, dirty human being. I’m as clean as a whistle. No baths. No showers. Nothing. Where in the world does the light come from? I never managed to inquire that. I look out the window and during the day I see bright white above and at night I see dark. God only knows. Who’s God? Is he like “they”? Is he a part of “they”? Is he “they”?
The door has yet to close since this nurse has been here. I quite like her a lot. But I refuse to call her “New Life” as she requested. It’s absurd and foolish. But she obviously didn’t want me to know her name. So I won’t ask.
When will I go out again? I must go soon or the rose will be gone. I’m too terribly timid for my own good. It is beautiful. I can hardly take my eyes off it for two moments. It’s all white outside the room. Except for the rose. There’s a few things next to the rose. I’ve no clue what they are, though. Will I ever leave my room again? I was too brash on my first attempt. I shouldn’t have gone. I was too greedy. This is a thing that will take time. More time than I want to waste. It’ll be even longer now because I was so hasty. The thought of stepping foot outside the room makes my stomach coil. The nurse is coming. We will talk.
September 29-It’s still open. I can’t go out though. I don’t know why I can’t, I just can’t! The nurse even said I could go out. But I just shook my head negatively. I am so tense I don’t know what to do. You’d think the sight of the rose would’ve gotten old by now. No, it hasn’t. The monotonous white has been a depressant all these years. It’s the rose that’s given me exceptionally pleasant moments in my stay here. And now that I have the opportunity to see it every day, I’m not quite enjoying it as much as I should. Not that it’s beauty is any less exciting or appealing to my eyes. I just know now that I have the opportunity to have it for my own and I won’t take it. Why me? Why am I so unhealthily timid? I mean, honestly, I am literally making myself ill. It’s not worth it. But, I would get even queasier if I were to leave the room.
What am I doing? I’m writing yet even more. I never thought it would get this big. I only have about ten pages left. They’re big pages, though. I can fit a lot on ten pages.
You know what? Forget this! I’m writing no more! It only makes me sickly. It makes me think too much.
November 29-Yes I lied. I’ve started up again. The bad habit of writing. Two months to the day as though I had chosen the exact length of time. I did, actually. I chose exactly two months to restart right after I threw the pencil and notebook against the wall, next to the toilet on September 29th. The pencil and notebook laid there for exactly two months. I’d look at them and think, “Maybe I should start again.” But then I remembered, my vow of two months.
The door’s been open for these two months. They’re trying to trick me. They know I’ll fail if I leave my quarters. They just want to prove it, like the hateful psychopaths they are. I’m jumping to conclusions about “they”. Maybe they’re nice after all.
I just thought of something. Does the rose look at me with the same desire as I do for it? Or is it completely apathetic? I know that roses are not intelligent creatures and even more than that they’re not animals, but regardless, there’s something atypical about this rose. Does it even want me to have it? Maybe it’s forcing me not to go after it. Maybe I AM crazy. I think the latter is the more likely scenario. The rose has yet to get boring. You’d think that maybe, yes it would. But no it hasn’t. It’s still as intriguing as the first day I laid eyes on it if not even more. I am stupidly tired. I can’t think.
December 1-I don’t have any tub, sink, age, name, or idea where the light comes from. You’d think that maybe I’d start to put puzzle pieces together. Something’s different, or rather incorrect about this place. The few bits and pieces of life that I remember outside of this seem to be very different. Or at least what I can tell. Maybe I don’t want to put the puzzle pieces together, though. I like life this way. There’s no need for normality. This is good. I just need the rose. I’d rather not talk about it, though. My introversion kills me. And to think about it disgusts me and makes me ill.
Has it been two days? Or three days? Is there a November 31st? I’ve no idea. I’ve always thought that maybe there’d be a 31st of November but now that I think of it, I only remember two days passing and the nurse distinctly said that it was December 1st. Maybe she’s wrong for once. I don’t know. It’s cold.
December 5-Everything is so white. So palely and sickly white. It makes me ill. It’s positively and disgustingly horrible. Honestly, I don’t think I was insane before I came here, but since being here I think I’ve lost my mind. White! It’s everywhere. Frankly, I think my eyes are becoming retarded. If they were to see color, or rather an abundance of color, they wouldn’t comprehend it. They might just turn it into white to make it simpler. There IS the tree and dirt. But as I think I said before, they bore me. The nurse’s red hair: very pretty. But the rose. My, my. The rose.
I think I shall leave the room very soon. I’ve been feeling like I could leave without becoming ill. I think I’ve lost my craven tendency. Or at least I hope I have.
December 7-There’s something different about this day. Something infamous…as though I heard it somewhere.
I just realized I never read a story. What in the world could I have been talking about? What story? Maybe I read it before I came here. But why would I think that? I am crazy. I’m positive of it. How many people do you know who have these outrageous eccentricities? Yes, notebook. I am talking to “you”, a notebook. One that has only been here with me for its entire life and who is clearly inanimate. See, I am insane.
December 28-It’s the anniversary of the first nurse’s departure. I don’t know whether I should celebrate or mourn because on the one hand, her bitterness that I so despised left me, but on the other hand, it’s when the second nurse arrived and now she’s departed. I guess I should mourn the day when she left me and not when she came. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. Granted, this nurse now is nice, but I’m only going to have bad memories of this time because of the rose. At least the second nurse let me see it in moderation so I wouldn’t be completely distraught. I almost wish this nurse had never come and the rose never existed because I wouldn’t be nearly as depressed as I am now. If it had only been simple. If there had been no rose or new nurse and everything was completely white, maybe I would have been allowed to go crazy without melancholy. But, no. The rose had to be there. It’s menacing, but I love it. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s all that’s on my mind. And I positively hate that.
Christmas has come and passed. I wish I knew what it was.
I guess I should make this clear. The nurse and I talk frequently. However the majority of our conversations are trivial. I only put the pertinent conversations, which apparently happen maybe once or twice. Or maybe I put the ones that I remember. Or maybe it’s both the pertinent ones and the ones in my memory. Yes, I think the latter is correct.
January 3-I remembered something else just now. For about three months (the first three months that I was here) there was a song that played. I didn’t know where it came from. It said something about a hero. It didn’t play continuously, though. It played randomly. Actually now that I think of it, it always played late in the day while there was still light. It was a nice tune; very familiar. In fact, I quite liked it a lot. The only disturbing thought is that I had no idea where it was coming from. Initially, I thought I was making it up, but then I thought that my imagination wasn’t large enough to create a song like that. Plus, it always seemed kind of distant and if I had made it up it would probably be loud in my head. So then I thought it could have been the nurse playing a joke on me or something. But she’d have no reason to do that. Other than the fact that I hated her. But she didn’t know that. Then I thought it was “they.” And still I’ve almost got myself convinced that it was “they” who was playing the song. After all, “they” are the only explanation for the light. So it’s got to be “they.”
They are the only reason I wake up in the morning for if it were up to me I’d sleep all day. But the light comes into my room and shines right on my face and I’m forced to wake. I wish I could sleep forever and not be dead. Well anyway it’s not like I’m ever outlandishly tired in this place.
January 16-I said I would do it. I’ve done it. FINALLY. I guess I figured I’d temporized long enough. Now I just need one more step further. Well let me explain. I went out the door to the table where the rose was. And my oh my was it beautiful. It was exactly how I remembered from my first escapade beyond my room. The best part about this time, though, was that I didn’t feel immediately nauseated. In fact, I felt fine up until a certain point. I could see things. Granted, everything’s white but this time I could make out the walls and doors into other rooms that I hadn’t seen before. To my right, there was a large hall. To my left, there was a white wall. In front of me, was another white wall with a closed door (and of course the rose was in front of me, as well). Behind me, was my room obviously. The rose is on top of a table. I believe I’ve mentioned that before. But there are other things on the table with the rose. I believe I’ve mentioned that before, too. The table is in a quite cavernous room: maybe thirty feet tall, twenty feet in length (from my door to the wall in front of me), and about twenty feet across. When I felt I could go no further without vomiting I turned around. But I wasn’t disappointed. I was rather surprised I had made it that far with my wits still about me.
Something inside me is telling me that I shouldn’t have the rose. I don’t know why I shouldn’t. There’s just something halting me. Maybe I shouldn’t have the rose. It’s difficult. I want the rose so extremely bad, yet for some reason I know I shouldn’t have it. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I’ve spent my entire stay here longing for the rose and now that I am so close to having it, I feel I can’t. It’s now my biggest anathema and it’s just a simple, unjustifiable hunch. Maybe the three other people would envy me or think of me strange. Or maybe the nurse would do the same. This is nonsense. I care too much what other people think about me. Who cares? Who really cares?
I make my paragraphs much too large.
February 6-I’ve touched the rose. Oh my word. This time I mean it. I’m not lying. I had just been doing what I said in my last entry but inching closer and closer each time. But today I actually touched it. I ran my fingers up and down the petals with what could only be described as splendid delight (I quite like the word “splendid“ anyhow). They’re all so silky and smooth. All the beautiful red petals. Each one crested and folded over differently down the side. Coming all together to make a circular and lovely center. It’s a sea of red. A crimson sky. A bloody moon. What a morbid way to describe it. I don’t care. It’s beautiful either way.
I also noticed that the rose is thorn-less. I could touch its downy stalk without the least bit of discomfort. It really is a strange thing. But, to me, it only shows her perfection all the more.
Then the nurse came down the hall and asked what I was doing. I must admit, I was quite startled and, at first, I thought she was scolding me. I must’ve looked at her with a guilty expression because she seemed forced to reassure me that it was fine I was outside my room.
There is still something stopping me from taking the rose. I felt that I could take it today but there was just something in my mind saying, “No.” Maybe it’s just my conscience. I should ask the nurse if I can have it. But what if she said “no.” Then I’d steal it. And feel even worse. I’ll just take the rose. And then act as though I’m innocent and naïve if the nurse accuses me of thievery.
Oh and one more thing. I’ve seen what else is on the table. There’s a small cactus in a white pot with soil (did I ever mention that the rose is in a white pot as well?) and there’s two other small white pots with soil but no plants. The cactus had been moved in front of the rose so I had to move it out of the way. One last thing, the phrase “J & R” was inscribed in the white wooden table. I wonder what it means.
Wait a second. What’s a moon? And why would it be bloody? I remember what it was. Or at least I remember the word. What in the world is a moon? How bizarre. I keep associating it with the dark but I can’t put my finger on what it is. I think it’s like Christmas; a word I can remember but I don’t know the meaning. Oh well.
February 14-I can’t have the rose. It’s not that something is stopping me. Other than myself, I suppose. But I want it so bad! I want it to sit in my window sill and greet me each morning as I wake. But I can’t and I know I can’t. What is wrong with me? I can touch the rose but I can’t pick it up and take it to my room. I’ve been going out everyday since my last entry and looking at the rose and feeling it and even talking to it, occasionally. It feels like silk. There’s one particular petal that curves down farther than the rest. It’s my favorite. Although the rose may think it’s an imperfection, I quite like it a lot.
I don’t know what it is about today. I feel strangely more desirous for the rose. I must have it.
Every time I go out to the table, the cactus is in front of the rose. Maybe someone moves it in front of the rose. I think maybe they like order because it’s always the cactus first, the rose second, and the two soil-filled pots third and fourth. A little obsessive if you ask me.
February 26-Well I picked the rose up. I made sure no one was looking and I picked it up. Then I set it back down. Not because I was scared, mind you. In fact, I had set in my mind that nothing was wrong with taking the rose. There was the door in front of me. I didn’t know where it led. But I had never thought to go through it until today. I walked up to it, stared for a little bit, and turned the handle. Locked. Oh well, it’s not like I wanted to leave anyway. Then the nurse came down the hall and said, “That door’s locked, you can’t go out it,” as if I couldn’t figure that out myself. She looked nervous. I came back to my room and we talked a little bit. She asked me if I would leave if that door was unlocked. I said, “Not in a million years.” She seemed reassured. Tomorrow I want to go down the hall. I’d never thought of doing that either.
I feel free, now. Although everything’s still white. It’s annoying. The white, that is.
March 2-I’ve run out of space. How did my pencil stay sharp for so long? |
Submission Name: Morose Thorn (Chapter 3)
