Autumn's 10 Word Challenge
The Room
© 2007, Sarah Gofourth
The room Cynthia was standing in suddenly seemed so dark; much darker than if one had simply turned out all the lights. It was more a feeling than anything, really, and she felt as though weights were tied to her as well.
The air was positively torrid, making it difficult for her to breathe, but she panicked only slightly. She took several deep breaths, then went from room to room, turning on every light in the house.
This had happened to her before. It would pass.
"Still too dark," she said, aloud.
She sprinted towards the television- sitting on its wooden nightstand in the dead center of the room, against the wall- and hit the 'Power' button, not even bothering to first locate the remote (which happened to be tucked under the chair adjacent to the television).
Sound filled the room.
"Excuse me. May I please have a hickey please?" Cynthia heard Fez's voice blaring from underneath the screen and filling the room.
"That '70s Show," she sighed, relieved. "That should help the darkness go away."
She hoped.
She continued to watch as Kelso stole Laurie's underwear, then her attention started to stray.
Her thoughts focused on a small, ceramic cat which was perched upon the coffee table in front of her. If anyone had seen the way she stared at it, they might have thought she was trying to will it to explode.
Cynthia realised the darkness wasn't leaving her as quickly as it usually did. Not even her favourite show could lift the seemingly impenetrable haze. She surmised that the darkness could well have entered her very soul by now, if she had one.
"With a chisel," she spoke to the room, looking back at the ceramic piece on the table. "I could wreck that little thing. Wouldn't that be fitting?"
Now, why would she want to destroy a ceramic cat? What had it done to her? Her face filled with regret at her own thoughts; as though the little cat were a living, breathing entity.
Sheer insanity, she thought. That's what it is. I'm going mad!
*BRRRING!*
The telephone's sudden outburst shocked her senses, causing her to let out a yelp.
She stared at the telephone, as it rang a second and third time, looking positively terrified.
"Is this what it feels like to go mad?" she asked herself.
Hearing herself say it aloud made her chuckle.
She listened to the phone as it continued to ring. She stared at the ceramic cat. She heard Laurie's voice from the television, yelling "BURST INTO FLAMES!"... and she thought this might be a very good idea. In fact, it was positively idyllic! Not sane, but what did sanity matter now?
There's a bridge just outside my house... she thought. Why, I could jump right off it!
She scratched her ear, pondering.
Sound had disappeared from her. She no longer heard Fez, Laurie, Jackie, Stephen, Kitty, or any of them. In fact, she no longer heard anything... except her own thoughts.
The bridge! her mind whispered frantically. Yes! The bridge!
Her ears wouldn't let her realise she was saying this out loud.
"I'm not in control of my life," she said, her voice dripping with hate and distaste as she thought about how all she did all her life was what others told her she should.
That's why she was living in town instead of out in the country; and by a hospital, no less! They must have been afraid of something like this! THEY KNEW!
Surely, they knew before she did. Didn't they always?
But who are they, Madoline? a voice inside asked her.
But... her name wasn't Madoline, was it? She no longer knew.
"Shut up!" she yelled at the voice. "You're confusing me!"
She stood up and began pacing the livingroom.
"I'm a fucking passenger in my own fucking life..." she growled. "But not for long. Soon, I'll control my own destiny. I'll control my own life. I'll control ME!"
But I thought you liked it here, the voice spoke.
"I thought I told you to shut up!" she hissed, spinning around to find the source of the disturbance.
No one was there.
"That's what I thought," she said, smugly.
Cynthia walked into the kitchen; her thoughts not really clear, even to herself now. She opened the kitchen cabinet beside the stove and withdrew a box of cellophane wrap.
I thought you were going to the bridge, the voice retorted, slyly.
"I thought I told you to SHUT UP!" she shouted, ripping plastic wrap from the box several feet at a time.
Clumsily, she started to wrap the plastic around her nose and mouth, over and over, until she could no longer breathe. Then, she took several spins with it around her neck.
For good measure, she thought.
The room was much darker now than it had ever been, but it wouldn't be for much longer.