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Cement walls the color of charred wood surround me. I lean against the wall and cold seeps into my back and body. My blanket and pillow are in a mound on one side of the cell and the toilet is on the other. I am looking at my constant companion: a lightbulb protruding from the ceiling. The light pulsates and expands under my gaze. There is a halo etched on my eyes from the light. I turn my eyes to the sink in the corner; it is completely obscured by the halo. The walls appear to have halo tattoos. I close my eyes and the halo is emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids. As the image fades, I look back at the light to reignite my eyes. If only the light was brighter, it would make the walls look silvery instead of ashen.
Eventually, I lay on my side and fade off to sleep. When I awaken, I find that my dinner has been placed just inside the door. Upon seeing the tray with a loaf of bread and a cup of water, I am ravenous. I scurry to the tray and seize the bread with both hands, tearing at it with my teeth. It is stale and hard, but no matter.
After I finish the bread, I lie on my stomach, lick my finger and press it down on each of the crumbs and then suck the remnants off my finger. Eating the crumbs takes a long time; I want to be sure not to miss any. The rumbling in my stomach is now more subdued. This is the most comfortable I will be for a few hours until the next meal comes. I take one last drink of water, use the toilet and then crawl under the blanket for a nap. I have no idea what time it is as I lie curled up on my side. The air is motionless and no sound cuts the air, save my own breath and my occasional rustling in the blanket. I am on the verge of sleep when I smell the faint perfume of lavender. I inhale and savor the recollections that it brings. I inhale again, but the scent is gone. If it ever existed, it has now dissipated.
In spite of the disappearance of the lavender, resurrected memories are still creeping into the cell. Caresses. Laughter. Embraces. I sit up on my bed, close my eyes and invite them in. I hold out my arms and try to draw them closer, but they dip and dart and elude my grasp. Standing up, I lunge this way and that, but the memories are escaping, slipping through my fingers. I know they haven’t gone far, though. They’re just beyond the walls of my cell. I collapse onto the bed and through the tears welling in my eyes, I scan the walls looking and longing for a way out. There are no secret compartments. No windows left ajar. No locks left undone – Wait! I go to the door and place my hand on the knob and begin to twist. Terror electrifies my body, leaving me breathless. The door is unlocked! What will happen if I go out? I have no idea, but my memories are escaping – I must go after them! I keep turning the knob until it reaches its apex. I tug on the door and gasp as it opens.
Light – brilliant sunlight – engulfs the room and sears my eyes. The wind rages past my ears while barely ruffling the grass. The birds’ song reverberates in my head. I cover my ears with my hands to shield them from the onslaught. I blink my eyes hoping they will adjust but as blindness nears, I move my hands to shield them. My nostrils pick up the scent of lavender – the memories are here! This time the scent is too strong and it chokes me, leaving me coughing and gasping. I uncover my eyes and search for any shelter I can run to; anything to protect me from this sensory blitz. There is nothing.
I retreat into my cell and close the door. I stand leaning against the wall and allow my senses to again grow accustomed to their surroundings. I cross the room, crawl under the blanket and turn my eyes to the light.
The safety of confinement… beautiful description here, I love how you make your protag’s world so stark and grey, then open into Technicolor horror. It reminds me of Dorothy opening her house’s door in Oz… Peace, Linda
I’m left wondering if this is all in his mind? I know depression does this…makes color and beauty painful. Did he lose his wife, a lover? Or is it a real prison and he’s been there so long he can’t even remember what she looks like, he can only recall her smell? This is very powerful in its quiet, subdued prose. Nicely done!
Funny that Shannon said “he”. I was thinking it was a woman!
Vivid description. The burst into color actually made me squint against the light, heh.
Well done!
Very nice ending. I like the emotional irony.
my neighbor has these little dogs that are ALWAYS in cages – when he pulls them out – they scurry back in. CRAZY. this reminded me of that – cool.
I’m with Shannon. It seems like a prison of the mind. Very nice detailing of the difference between the cell and the outside world.
Allegory that blinds. Safe in our blog world, Twitter world, Internet world, when we step out side to the lavender real of eye contact and holding hands and moving through the messes of crowds, do we turn back to our cell?
This story sounds like a dream, and as readers that turns us into dream interpreters. My analysis: Maybe you need to get out more. (Maybe we all do.)
Jeff Posey
Try again!
I thought this was a great piece of flash, although I think it was a bit slow to get going with mebbe just a little too much description of what is basically a standard cell with four walls and a single lightbulb. I thought it really started to hit its straps from para four and was mesmerising from that point on. And you left me wanting to know much more – specifically who was bringing the food! Well done.
Neat! I can’t tell if this is someone trapped in their mind, or an agoraphobic with a poor memory
Love it. Absolutely love it. Beautifully written, love the imagery of the halos on the light and your descriptions etc etc. Very well done
Oh my, fear of freedom. What a sad trap to fall into. I see someone mentioned depression. I can easily imagine this must be what it would feel like. Well conceived, and nicely executed.
~jon
So vivid – first the drabness of the cell, then the brightness of the memories. Sensory overload indeed. Nice work.
Wow. It is like that, isn’t it? Memories? Sometimes we chase them and then they burn.
Very nice work.
I liked the descriptions a lot, especially the lavender…nice touch.
Very vivid, as Laurita said.
I particularly liked the scene with her eyes returning to the light for “reignition” – sticking to the familiar, I suppose
Oops, I hit submit too soon: “but my memories are escaping – I must go after them!” – I loved this fragment
Wow PJ,
This packs a whallop. I loved it! This line “Eating the crumbs takes a long time; I want to be sure not to miss any.” really struck me when I read it in the story and hit me like a hammer blow to the head when I finished the story since she willingly shunned the banquet of life just outside the door and only left herself with crumbs ….. so very cool.
Karen :0)
Beautifully written and thought provoking. It could be taken as another ‘waiting room’, a place the soul leaves when ready. But you’ve also allowed another reading, that many of us live our lives on earth like that right now. I like this ambiguity very much.
Do we take refuge in our pain because it is familiar? I really like, “resurrected memories are still creeping into the cell.”
Thank you so much, everybody, for your terrific comments! (especially for cascade lily who got an error when posting and had to try multiple times!) I have hung back on responding to any comments this time because i have been so interested in how each of you interprets this story. The thing i like about it (and i’m not sure the prose completely captures the idea that i had) is that there are so many ways to analyze it. My *thinking* as I wrote it were either of somebody suffering from depression or from sensory hypersensitivity where sounds (for example) can be overwhelming. I think it is an imaginary situation for sure but it can take on multiple meanings depending on the reader. It could signify a more minor case of getting into a negative pattern that is difficult to break out of. Or it could signify – as Mark K indicated – a transition point between life and death. Anyway – I’m so glad that you enjoyed it and I’ll continue to work on this one.
Oh, painful, painful, painful – but so true. A very well drawn world. Terribly, it could not have had a better ending (from the perspective of a story).
Well done.
I enjoyed this one. The description in it was excellent. Nice job!
I thought for sure I had left a comment already, no matter, the piece is so good I’ll say it again. You really did an amazing job on this one. Your last sentence was great.
~chris
Okay, yeah…I can see where you were coming from and I did get the abstract feeling of it not being a physical prison. Way to make us think!
Very very nice, PJ! Sorry I’m late on reading this – time was short this week! – Just wanted to say that the whole story resonated for me, and the detail was delicious! I like the rohrshach (sp?) quality to the whole thing, where it means what it means to the reader. For me it was a nightmare of purity – when the individual (gender irrelevant) became so pure that even the tiniest sensory stimulus became overwhelming, which effectively confined that poor soul in a prison of his/her own purity, isolating him/her until even the memory of communion with others was fading. If that makes sense, that’s how I read it, and Karen’s right, it’s a very moving piece, no matter how interpreted! Thanks for posting!