There are whispers. But she is alone in the room.
She looks out the large double-panned perfectly shaped window, the glass without spots or smudges, immaculate and looking brand new. No flaws can be seen in the glass, no scratches, or hints of smears from bugs or birds, for the room’s window does not attract the living, it appears dead, it is an abandoned space. Inside though, she lives. Or is she living? The days pass just like those before, sitting in the room, looking at the tall solid white walls before her, being protected by the room and yet confined to the room. That was the trade, the bargain she had made so long ago. The room protects her, makes sure her secrets are kept hidden. And she in turn, lives in the room. As the years had past, she no longer thought of the bargain, she felt that she must stay. The room keeps her secrets for her, but she cannot bear to be far from them. For her greatest fear—that the secrets would become known to the world, out there, outside the window—is why she must stay.
Her eyes look beyond the square of that window. The window is the entire north wall of the room; the sturdy glass touches the top of the ceiling and down to the surface of the floor, both sealing the room shut and acting as a threshold between where she stands and the outside. A threshold between what is known and what is unknown. The day is sunny, without a cloud in the blue sky, in fact, never before had she seen the sun so bright. Today it becomes more powerful than ever, its rays penetrating the tops of the trees, and its color is white, almost transparent-like in its iridescence. It blinds her. She is afraid to look at it. However seemingly bright and cheerful, it is dangerous and ominous—or so it appears, or so she had been told. She could not truly know. Only once had she escaped the walls of the room, slid past the limits of their reach, opened the shiny metal door handle, and touched her bare skin against the warm pavement. A foreign sensation of freedom came over her, but she did not know it was freedom. She became alarmed, but still wanted to stay there, on that sunny pavement. But only after a few moments of this strange warmth, it pulled her back in. The room pulled her back into it. Its cold and familiar touch lures her back inside, back to those walls, the white, immaculate, bare, perfectly kept, perfectly hidden walls. The walls give her something: a room of her own.
But, it is not really her own. She is owned. The room owns her. A part of her soul is inscribed onto the walls of the room. Etched into the walls, her soul lies there, forever attached to the room. Her thoughts, feelings, desires, wants, worries, secrets—all are tattooed onto the walls, deeply embedded underneath all that white paint, never to be erased. The room, made up of four white walls, is part of her, and she part of it. She needs it. It feeds her body. It makes up the other part of her soul that is in her body. She is one with the room. She breathes in its protection, its promise of security and comfort, its intimacy—for it truly is a part of her, she had known it for years and it had known her, it knew her, it knows her—so far as she was concerned, it knows every thought, every word that her mind utters. It knows what she will choose to do next, it even knows before she will. And whenever she tried to know what she would do after something happened, it always predicted exactly what she did. Of course it was right, it said. It mocks her to think differently. Like God, it knows every step she takes, forward and backward. It surrounds her like a ghost. She cannot physically see it, but knows it is the room. An intangible being, but a being that takes the form of the room. It can travel inside her body. It lives in her like a parasite. In fact, it was in her mind. It had morphed into her, encompassed every part of her, her dark hair, her round face, her whole tummy, her dangly arms, skinny legs. It is there now.
It never did leave. And never will. She believes it will stay with her forever. She has convinced herself of this. It has been with her for as long as she can remember, so what would make it leave? She cannot remember life without it. She hardly remembers her childhood. Parts of her childhood she has chosen to delete from her memory. She only remembers being afraid. She remembers being defenseless, like no one understood her. She remembers her heart bursting, crying to speak her beliefs and feeling out loud, but not being able to do so. For every time she spoke, she felt ashamed. No one understood her. She remembers her childhood room. The only room that she felt safe in, the only space she felt knew and understood her. She poured out her soul there, in that space, the walls listened and they comforted her. The walls were white. And there was a big window where she could see other children playing outside, but she would rather remain in the room—the children didn’t understand her like the room did. She only remembers the room now. All of her other memories have faded from disuse. The memory she always returned to was the one of her in her room. Her room. Her protector. Her confidant.
The room looks at her now; she senses its ever-watching eyes. This room. This prison. This room was not like her childhood room—not any more. Permanent, unshakeable, strong, entrapping her like a snake traps its prey. It locks her into its jaws, but it does not kill, only traps her. It does not kill her because it needs her too. It would not exist if it were not for her own existence. So, it binds her. Does what it wants with her, twists her physically and mentally. It squeezes her, holds her and makes her heart beat quickly, it overwhelms her. It knows her. It controls her body and tells her what she can and cannot do. Her thoughts are no longer her own, but are intertwined with the thoughts of the room, the whispers that speak to her, these are her thoughts now because she has become one with it and it has become one with her. The whispers are now her conscious, it beckons her and she follows it. She allows herself to succumb to it. Perhaps, she has even become numb to it, for she follows the whispers without question, without reluctance. This numbness derives from the ever-present knowledge that she cannot leave it. It has her secrets. She also can never leave the room because it has become so familiar to her; like a baby in a womb, she depends on it. Although it abuses her, she finds comfort in it. It feeds her soul. Whispers to her that she will never leave it and it will never leave her. It whispers to her. She knowingly and unconsciously nods. The whispers are her thoughts, they have stayed with her for so long, her life without them is unimaginable, impossible. She needs to be surrounded by these perfect all-knowing walls, in this room. For she is weak, and it is strong.
The room whispers their history together, it shows her how far they have come together, both body and spirit, and it says that they are better together.
But the room lies.
It lies and she knows it lies. Still, she believes it.
Its words are slippery, are like rain on a pavement—unavoidable—and when she falls, she falls into it. It makes her stay inside. Be with it. The room shows her how it is fitting for her to be with it because she knows it so well. It shows her the strength of its walls, so secure, and most importantly, it shows her that all of her secrets are kept hidden inside of these indestructible walls. They are safe within the walls. The walls hide the secrets, behind the many thick layers of paint, they cover them up, bury them within the coats of white paint, fresh and new, the secrets lie there, hidden beneath, but still there. This is what her frightens her. Even though the walls appear new, give the impression of innocence, masked by the paint, the blackness of the secrets lives on. Invisible to the normal eye, but visible to her, they are still there, alive. They haunt her. If someone else discovered the room, if someone were to enter the bright freshly painted, flawless room, her secrets would be in danger. The walls could easily be stripped of paint and the words and thoughts—everything would be exposed! The walls cover her secrets and conceal them for her. But, she knows the walls cannot entirely rid those secrets from this world. This is why she must stay in the room. She is still threatened by the thought of not being in the room when someone else discovers it.
She cannot leave.
She has to yield to it, she cannot escape it, cannot desert it. It controls all of her. And she, stupidly but forcibly lets it. Because the room tells her she is happier there, in the room, with all her secrets, she is not vulnerable when she is there. But, then she is a prisoner. Oh, what to do?
Far into her heart, there is an area where the room has not reached, where the walls do not own, the part of her soul that really does want her to be free. Free of it, to leave the room. She has forgotten this small part of her soul. Tucked beneath the part that belongs to the wall. She does not know it exists. As she looks out of the window, the glass frame shows her the outside; she feels the warmth of the sun soak into her skin, the reflection of the rays falling down onto the cold hard floor of the room. And then she feels the cool breath of the room, whispering to her. She must stay. She must be prisoner to have protection, to keep her secrets hidden. If she even were to escape, it would all be over. Everything would be known. The world would know. And, then what? She would be vulnerable to it all. Surely, her life would end. If she were to exist without the room…but to even think that, she is unable to. She cannot exist without the room.
But, the sun, it keeps coming back to her, filling her with this ecstasy, this drug, filling her with some sort of feeling she cannot relate to, something she had only tasted of once, but had never really known, but something she wanted badly.
This feeling took her from the room, transported her somewhere else, some world she did not recognize. The feeling made her body light, floating in space, untied, freed from the formidable walls bearing down at her, the whispering became faint, and she was at peace. Her soul became its own again. Not just the part that lay far within her, but all of it. She felt whole without the room. She was whole by herself. She became aware of her surroundings. A light so bright she could barely stand took look at, but a light so warm she knew she needed to stay close by. It penetrated her skin, and filled her with a strange elevated feeling. She could not see a ground, or walls, just a space of light that she seemed to be suspended in the middle of. There was no longer a tight hold on her body, squeezing her to where she must force her breathing to slow down and press her stomach in so the grip did not worsen. Instead of trembling and her heart beating nervously, her breathing was calm, normal, and voluntary. The brightness of the sun was almost too much, she began to feel weak, but suddenly she felt strong.
She was no longer weak, but powerful. She felt she could do anything. She had never felt this way before. She wanted to swim out into the space farther to see the glimmering rays that had begun to gather together in the distance. She started to use her body to move herself forward, what a joy she felt as she glided towards those beautiful beams! Further she went, almost to the point of those sparkles, her soul filled with that strange but wonderful feeling. She reached out her hand to touch them.
But then, there was a jolt of pain. A quick panic in her breast. She had floated too far and she began to feel vulnerable and uncertain of where she was going. What were those beautiful things? Where was she? She became fearful. She must go back, back to the room, she felt it calling her, and she starts to hear its voice—the soft, soothing, deceiving whispers.
She awakes to an empty room. Empty except for her. Her body is the only object in the room, the only focus of the room. The only thing the room wants. She gets up and walks past the walls towards the large window and looks to the sun. She can barely look at the sun. Its rays are brilliant, sparkling. She touches her skin, it is not cold anymore. Then she remembers. The unfamiliar but terrific feeling comes back to her. She tries to remember all of the feeling she had experienced, but she cannot remember it all, she only knows she wants to go back to it. She yearns for that feeling, the feeling in the dream—but was it a dream? She was there, she had floated above the ceiling, she had escaped the room.
She looks around the room, the unyielding walls, and full of her secrets, the room, still perfectly square and straight and hears it whisper to her. It tells her that it knows all of her—no one knows her like it does.
But it lies! The room lies and she knows it. She must listen, must obey despite that she knows it deceives her…the feeling though…how freeing it was, how light she felt, unbound, and floating, almost as if she had the power to fly. To fly and leave the room…she could be free. But then, how uncertain it was too. And her secrets, what would happen if she left them?
She slowly goes towards the door and puts her hand on the cold, shiny metal handle. She sees a girl in the handle and she looks at her. The girl is afraid, powerless. She somehow knows that this is what life will always be for her. The girl in the reflection disappears. Her heart begins to accelerate, sweat drips from her dark hair, her arms feel heavy, and she begins to tremble. She pulls her hand from the door’s handle and steps away quickly, panting for air. Exhausted, she falls to the floor. The room—it is gripping her tightly, not wanting to let go of its prisoner. It squeezes her body, chokes her. But, all at once, she realizes what she must do. She closes her eyes.
She sees the glowing sun, feels her skin growing warmer, glimpses the flickering lights of the rays. The beauty of them overwhelms her. The joy they emit fills her soul.
She breaks from the grip of the room.
She runs to the door and puts her hand on the shiny handle. In the reflection she sees a girl again. But, this time, the girl tells her something. Without words, the girl tells her it is time. The time has come to leave the room. To escape it. She realizes the protection she thought she had, only made her vulnerable. To be trapped in the room made her defenseless and weak. The vulnerability exists in the room, not outside. The outside, that other world, she must go there to escape all this. The girl in the handle’s reflection looks peaceful, content, and free. The girl is in that other world.
She opens the door and flings her body down on the warm pavement. She stops and breathes. The air is new and bright. She feels the rays of the sun even more. The power she once felt flows back into her. And then, in that moment, the whispers return. The whispers tell her to come back, tell her the secrets will become known to the world. All will know. All will realize who she really is. She feels weak and susceptible to the room and its walls. She looks back to the open the door. She sees the white walls looking at her, peering into her soul.
But, she no longer recognizes that part of her soul: it is gone.
There is no connection to that part of her soul, perfectly embedded in those walls. Those secrets, they are not a part of her anymore. Because now, instead of wanting to stay by the secrets, let them define her, mark her, control her—she wants to let go. She does not want them anymore.
Those secrets are no longer hers to keep. She escapes into the brightness of the day, towards the beautiful captivating space. She walks through it and is reborn.
She sees herself now, the little girl she once was.
Walking along the sand, the cool water spreads into her toes and the warmth of the sun rests upon her. She feels the soft whisper of the wind and pulls her wavy dark hair behind her ear. She hears the wind whisper to her, but her mind feels free. She runs into the ocean and lets the waves fall onto her back. She embraces them as they surround her. The waves echo the ambient sound of water, the repetition of the tide coming into the sand and returning again to the ocean. Her heart feels light, her soul feels complete.
The childhood that was once erased is still real. She becomes that girl again. Standing with sureness and without fear. She remembers now. The small, forgotten part in her soul. She holds onto it. She secures it to her breast and faces the world a new being.