The White Room Chronicles

August 29. 2006
Dear Journal,
Today I was walked into the white room again. It was bigger than I had remembered it to be. The floor was cold and speckled with pieces of gold and the walls were flawlessly white with no sign of damage or taint. I walked into the white room and stood right in the center of it. It is an unusual feeling to be in the white room. A confinement with no objects and no life. I sat down and began to cry. As each mounting teardrop fell from my chin and splashed onto the floor, a new gold piece formed. I find it easier to cry in the white room because there is no sound. Each whimper or choke quickly disintegrates before it even leaves my lips. I think I like that.


August 30, 2006
I woke up in the white room and found a smudge of blood on the right corner of the room. I crawled closer to inspect it and even touched it to see if it was fresh. I was so frightened I withdrew to the opposite corner and started crying. I cried because the white room was ruined. I cried because the smudge of blood overpowered the purity of the white room and depsite its small mass, the impact of the blood was massive. I cried for 14 hours, I think, and finally stopped when no more tears were left in me. I took off my shirt then and scrubbed the smudge of blood. It only made the blood smear and remained redder than ever. I screamed then because I knew I had made things worse. I had spread it in the white room like a hateful virus eating away the chasity of a newborn baby. The white room made no noise and did not get angry. It simply remained still as the blood claimed its new space.


August 31, 2006
The door disappeared. I tried to leave the white room but there was no longer a door in which I could exit. I stood around the white room for a few minutes, my eyes wandering to the smear of blood and then back to seeking a possible way out. I think I should have been more worried that the door was gone but I couldn't bring myself to a reasonable point of anxiety. I just stood there, staring at the blood and feeling a sense of guilt for stripping the white room of its purity. I think this is what they call Karma. Where I do something and then get punished for it even when I'm truly sorry. If this is what this is, then I suppose there is no hope in trying to leave the white room. I began laughing because I wondered whether it was really my fault that the blood was there in the first place. I simply woke up and found it there. Is it my fault if I found it when no one else existed to take the blame?


September 1, 2006
Somehow I am aware of the day and time although there are no windows or clocks for which I am able to seek reference. I have begun to think that the white room is my throne--my world. I am its god and I can sense the day and time within my world because I possess all the power within it. And if I possess all power within the white room, I can cast out anyone or anything I please. I grab my shirt and begin scrubbing the blood again. This time I smeared it across the wall and despite my efforts to dilute it, it remained redder and wider than ever before. I staggered backwards and began to cry. I crawled into a spare corner and cried until I slipped into sleep.


September 2, 2006
I awoke to find a closed coffin next to me. I screamed again without no sound escaping from me and fell to the floor. I clutched my heart and pounded the floor until my fists burned red. I sat up and stared at the coffin. It was black with a smooth cross engraved on the top. I sat staring for hours at the coffin and then I turned to the blood stain on the wall and back to the coffin. I knew from the beginning I opened my eyes to the coffin that I was meant to open it. I used to think I defined what was meant for me but now I'm not so sure. I approached the coffin and lay my hand on the smooth surface. My hands fell to the latch and onto the edge of the closed case. If I'm going to open this coffin in the white room, I had better be ready to see what is in it. But what if I'm not ready to see? I think I should wait to be ready or will I never be ready to face what lies away in this coffin? I think I'm not ready. I think that I should wait because I don't want to be caught unready.

Septemeber 4, 2006
No life. It has been two days and my eyes are dry. I wish I could see my reflection but the blood has dried on the floor and walls and all that sits is the coffin. I don't want to open it. I want to cast it out of the white room but such thoughts are useless as there are no doors or exits. If life is planned out then there is no use fighting it.


Septemeber 5, 2006
I opened the coffin and found my dead best friend. He has been dead since I was eleven and I am caught staring at his frozen face, unaged and innocent. If only his soul had carried on till this day. He would have witnessed the years of tears, wounds and confusion soaking each day of my life. As I look at his still face, I sometimes wonder if he took the easy way out. I touch his lips. I wonder what it would be like if my life poured into his body and I was shut out from the world. Useless thoughts. Useless until it happens. Maybe it will.


September 6, 2006
The coffin had vanished and I am left alone in the white room. I so yearn to leave this room now. Solitude delivers peace in short duration. My mind is squirming and seeking release. A human, in all its complexity left to nothing will become nothing. Nothing is what I thought my life was. But nothing is what I am truly becoming. I must leave. I must have free will--disguised or not.


Sincerely,
White Room Writer