I sit in a room.
It’s dark and cold and silent.
So silent that my ears ring from the lack of sound; my heartbeat echoing between these four walls.
I feel cold, hungry and tired and yet I don’t do anything. There’s a door in front of me and I know it’s not locked--yet I don’t raise up to escape this eerie room. I stay on the floor.
Like a withering flower.
Perhaps I’ve already bloomed and now I’m just withering in this dark, empty room. The petals are hanging for their life before they snap off and fall onto the snow covered ground--to be wiped off by the wind and never to be seen again.
There’s a voice on the other side of the door.
But they think that the room is empty and then they leave.
And then it’s quiet once again.