the white room

it was all enveloping, yet infecting so little of her senses that she could not be sure that it was actually there at all. once inside, it was impossible to tell if anything was real or not. even her thoughts became indistinguishable - were they her own, or was it all around her? in the whiteness, the blank buzz of noise dulled deafened ears further. she was suddenly afraid; terrified that she would be locked up in this box forever and eternity. 'the girl who got stuck', the headlines would blare, in an alternate universe. she had arrived here by strange chance and had no clue, as yet, to which yellow brick road her sparkling shoes had stepped upon. where, oh where on this godless earth was she?

it had occurred slowly, or quite suddenly; she couldn’t recall. but over time she became vacuous, as though a big, gaping crack had opened in the surface of her. ‘little girl lost’, she called herself, in recorded words and wondering, as she contemplated her surroundings. the girl was helpless as a fly, and squashed - that much was evident. flattened, almost eliminated, it was true that she had felt mildly invisible recently. she must have been slightly so - since though I can picture her right now, with hair the colour of autumn leaves and a wonky grin which did not betray her insides; i cannot for the life of me remember her name. jane doe was pale as a whisper, transparent as a shadow. a shell of her own delusional grand plans and technicolour dreams, perhaps?

one day, she went to the office as usual. for a few days prior, she had felt difficulty in drawing breath. it was as though a hand was applying a slight, yet constant pressure upon her throat, causing her to swallow repeatedly as she gasped, drowning. half-thinking it was asthma, she had ignored it thus far. but today was different. her cheeks ached with pressure and her vision was beginning to flicker indeterminately. she felt light, like a child at christmas, but without the pleasure, reminding herself of someone who had been on the waltzer too many times. something pounded in her throat (was it her heart – and what was it doing there, we wonder?), and in the end she dissolved. dissolved into a puddle of tears. a melancholy sight, on a bright summer morning in july. bundled into a car, she hardly felt the hands on her as they took her home.