The Box

As the rain drops on the skylight and moon shines down into the middle of the room, I sit in a dark corner watching it. I've made a game of trying to avoid the light. I don't really have anything else to do besides that and reading books, and I've already read all the books. My memory is blocked somehow. I remember something about a family but there's no details. All I can vividly remember is the layout of this room. A large box with a bookshelf on one side, a small bed on the far end, and a table on the other side. All there is to do is play with the light as if it's going to kill me, or reread the books. Although once that gets boring I usually just sleep.

There's nothing to do. I'm trapped. I don't know how long I've been here. Have I always been here? Did I really have a family? Could I have deluded myself into thinking that? I want to leave. I need to escape. It feels like I'm going insane. The days and nights are looping. It's always dark in here but I can tell the light coming in is moonlight. Perhaps it's time to sleep again. Goodnight, observer.

As the dark sun shines on the skylight, I rise from my metal bed. The bars rupturing my back. I'm used to it. I grab my favorite book, "Dark Age". It's apparently a real story about a world in ruin with only one glimmer of salvation. It intrigues me everytime I read it. I go over to the table and begin reading it. It was fun. The light coming in is dimming. It must be night. Rain droplets start falling onto the glass as I watch it.

As the rain drops on the skylight and moon shines down into the middle of the room, I sit in a dark corner watching it. I've made a game of trying to avoid the light. I don't really have anything else to do besides that and reading books, and I've already read all the books. My memory is blocked somehow. I remember something about a family but there's no details. All I can vividly remember is the layout of this room. A large box with a bookshelf on one side, a small bed on the far end, and a table on the other side. All there is to do is play with the light as if it's going to kill me, or reread the books. Although once that gets boring I usually just sleep.

There's nothing to do. I'm trapped. I don't know how long I've been here. Have I always been here? Did I really have a family? Could I have deluded myself into thinking that? I want to leave. I need to escape. It feels like I'm going insane. The days and nights are looping. It's always dark in here but I can tell the light coming in is moonlight. Perhaps it's time to sleep again. Goodnight, observer.