The White Room

This is original, I hope you like it... :DDDD

Chapter 1


Hate, loathing, hurtful things exist more than good things do in this life, this place. You know what the worst thing is? We all absorb it like common household sponges. Life is only a one chance ride. Each life is different, no matter how similiar they seem, or how you want them to seem. A treasure chest sits in the middle of a white room. Naught on the walls, naught inside, just you and that treasure chest. The white room is your life, a clean slate. The treasure chest contains the foundation; what you value most, what you absolutely need, and what you despise. It's your decision to choose what is added to that empty room... but sometimes you are cheated out of it. What you wanted to add to that white room, your life, has been stolen. Like a pirate with a map, he seeks that treasure chest. And to your great despair, he finds it. He uses your most precious items to manipulate you. Suddenly, it becomes too much to bare. You must let those items go. The white room adapts to the person who ruined it, and you start to think alike. I'm not a life coach, and certainly not a teacher, I am just a girl. Just Mercedes.

Anger, betrayal and anxiety filled my heart, pumping valves and all. He left, my bestfriend. Gone, disappeared, and now he was nothing. His thick, midnight brown curly locked ruffled as he took his hat off, nodding farewell. His eyes were a sea after a storm. Then I turn to look at him for the last time, but there was no one there. I was scared. Loneliness sweltered my stomach, burning holes into my humanity. I wandered away somewhere, too dazed to think, to stay in safety range. This somewhere was luring. The field was plowed with its dark earth turned in great clods, giving up its musty dampness, exposing its loamy richness to the sun and clear air. It was wild with untamed growth, hiding brown rabbits and grey mice in thick bramble hedges; scrub cedar, sunflowers and wild honeysuckle assaulted my nose with heavy fragrance. I expected a place of quiet retreat, but I was wrong. Song birds like the mocking bird and thrush kept up a rowdy hoopla while grackles and jays break any silence with raucous noise. It was an exceptable place to die, indeed.

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