HOME | DD

Description
The landlord introduced me to my new room, a light grey panted wall and a twin sized bed made neatly for new visitors. I’d say the room is about 15 feet, basing it off the metal room I used to reside. There was a small fan in the corner of the nightstand to help supplement for the lack of AC. No computer, no internet. All I have is my job, and my room, and nothing else except the invisible eyes watching me. The mailbox sits outside the miniscule living room connected to the kitchen. A bathroom laid somewhere near there but I am yet to learn the layout of my new residence. For now, I admire the light grey walls, reminding me of my previous residence. The bed is much nicer here and I can tell just by looking at it.

I walk over to the nightstand and turn on the fan in the corner to cool me down, the only thing I’m not used to here is this lack of AC. The cool air flutters around the room until I begin to feel it brush against my face, welcoming me the new sleeping quarters.

I take my body and rest it against the bed, the matrass closes around me, it feels nice, and I find myself relaxing my mind knowing I can find a new life with this new room and this new job.
Waking up in the morning I make my bed and give myself a good look in the mirror. I take the time to try and appreciate my look; there is, however, something off about my appearance. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Meeting with the wardrobe I search for an appropriate outfit, the thought of choosing what I wear is satisfying to me. I eventually choose a soft orange shaded shirt and find myself most comfortable wearing it.

Coming back to the house makes me feel pleasant, knowing I’ve done something productive and making myself money for a living. Counting and marking and scanning. The simple things I do for money, this tiny space does not cost much to upkeep.

I undress and let the fan sooth my skin from the hot air. I look at the spinning fan, and I stare into it, the fan speaks to me. Its small, its innocent, all it does is blow air into the room. There was a fan at my old place, a big one, almost looking down at us.when I looked out from the cut in the walls and placed my hands around the metal supports that are in place to support the stability of the window when put under pressure by the craziest of events. Right outside that window was a view of the building with a large industrial fan at the top of the room, keeping the temperature. The armies of men doing their exercises in the yard, my best friend among them.

I miss him. I miss him so.

There was a small fizz protruding my ear, as I turn my head to look at what had happened I find that a lightbulb had gone out. The room had become slightly dimmer and I almost feed satisfied to have something to do the next day, something productive.

That next morning, I wake up and prepare for work, this time I looked at the lightbulb that once lit up this grey room. Until finding another nice piece of clothing and trotting out of the house.
Returning to my room after work, greeted by my fan and my made bed. I realized I forgotten to grab a new lightbulb, I’m not used to doing new things throughout the day, even though I felt excited to get out there I just felt more natural headed straight to my sleeping quarters. My fan greets me again, hitting my face with the rushing air and I try to smile but I’m too tired. I look at the empty shelving, shelving I’d feel would have a more natural look if there were books atop of them. So, in order to feel productive, I decided to try and take the shelves down.

I unscrew the screws and undo the nails keeping the object together. A very methodical process it feels natural after living in my previous residence. My sole job down there was working with lumber and license plates. They didn’t pay me that much though.

After taking down the shelving I find myself wondering what I should even do with these pieces, leaving my room sounds like too much of a bother. Ultimately, I end up leaving the pieces where they are and just falling asleep and hoping they don’t leave much of a disturbance.

I wake up again greeted by my fan, I continue to stare at the fan. I begin to realize I forget to turn off the fan throughout the day and wonder how the fan is still able to continue to move throughout this past week. I look at the pile of wood on the floor and dread having to deal with it, I also dread fixing my bulb. I wonder why I didn’t fix this before. I miss my home, I miss my friends. I want a way to go back.

I take a peek out the window and see the neighbor walking the dog, something on her wrist catches my attention, a very expensive watch. I continue to admire the watch, letting my mind wonder. What if I could get my hands on it? The gust of wind hits me from my fan at the nightstand, and I am brought back to reality. No, I can’t do that, that’s bad.

I look back at the mess on my floor. I look back at my hand, its embedded into the wall. I did this, I hit the wall. The grey wall, the grey wall that just won’t satisfy me. Again, I notice the metal fan hitting me with its wind. I look back at it, and I feel like it looks back at me. I trudge out of bed, leaving it unmade and disorganized and walk to work.

I return greeted by the fan, but I don’t notice the fan’s air this time. I barely remember anything that happens outside of this room, yet I barely care about anything inside of the room. I look at the fan. It insults me. Its so innocent, its so care-free, its so upbeat. The soft wizz of the fan introducing me this room time and time again. It whispers to me, something incoherent, something only I could understand. I don’t want to listen, and I don’t.

I aggressively pull the cord out from the fan and the room becomes dead silent. I begin to hear soft rings in my ear as I stand myself up from the bed and peer at the door of the room. I wish to be back, I want to go back, and I want to stay back.

I go outside. I went to visit my neighbor.

From the window of the room, any onlooker might be able to see a vast explosion of red and blue, and a beautiful sound playing in a systematic loop, a concert. These sounds and sights introducing me back to where I belong. While at my neighbors, I never touched that watch, I didn’t want to, I never really wanted to, and I didn’t need to.

I just wanted to go home.

Description
The landlord introduced me to my new room, a light grey panted wall and a twin sized bed made neatly for new visitors. I’d say the room is about 15 feet, basing it off the metal room I used to reside. There was a small fan in the corner of the nightstand to help supplement for the lack of AC. No computer, no internet. All I have is my job, and my room, and nothing else except the invisible eyes watching me. The mailbox sits outside the miniscule living room connected to the kitchen. A bathroom laid somewhere near there but I am yet to learn the layout of my new residence. For now, I admire the light grey walls, reminding me of my previous residence. The bed is much nicer here and I can tell just by looking at it.

I walk over to the nightstand and turn on the fan in the corner to cool me down, the only thing I’m not used to here is this lack of AC. The cool air flutters around the room until I begin to feel it brush against my face, welcoming me the new sleeping quarters.

I take my body and rest it against the bed, the matrass closes around me, it feels nice, and I find myself relaxing my mind knowing I can find a new life with this new room and this new job.
Waking up in the morning I make my bed and give myself a good look in the mirror. I take the time to try and appreciate my look; there is, however, something off about my appearance. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Meeting with the wardrobe I search for an appropriate outfit, the thought of choosing what I wear is satisfying to me. I eventually choose a soft orange shaded shirt and find myself most comfortable wearing it.

Coming back to the house makes me feel pleasant, knowing I’ve done something productive and making myself money for a living. Counting and marking and scanning. The simple things I do for money, this tiny space does not cost much to upkeep.

I undress and let the fan sooth my skin from the hot air. I look at the spinning fan, and I stare into it, the fan speaks to me. Its small, its innocent, all it does is blow air into the room. There was a fan at my old place, a big one, almost looking down at us.when I looked out from the cut in the walls and placed my hands around the metal supports that are in place to support the stability of the window when put under pressure by the craziest of events. Right outside that window was a view of the building with a large industrial fan at the top of the room, keeping the temperature. The armies of men doing their exercises in the yard, my best friend among them.

I miss him. I miss him so.

There was a small fizz protruding my ear, as I turn my head to look at what had happened I find that a lightbulb had gone out. The room had become slightly dimmer and I almost feed satisfied to have something to do the next day, something productive.

That next morning, I wake up and prepare for work, this time I looked at the lightbulb that once lit up this grey room. Until finding another nice piece of clothing and trotting out of the house.
Returning to my room after work, greeted by my fan and my made bed. I realized I forgotten to grab a new lightbulb, I’m not used to doing new things throughout the day, even though I felt excited to get out there I just felt more natural headed straight to my sleeping quarters. My fan greets me again, hitting my face with the rushing air and I try to smile but I’m too tired. I look at the empty shelving, shelving I’d feel would have a more natural look if there were books atop of them. So, in order to feel productive, I decided to try and take the shelves down.

I unscrew the screws and undo the nails keeping the object together. A very methodical process it feels natural after living in my previous residence. My sole job down there was working with lumber and license plates. They didn’t pay me that much though.

After taking down the shelving I find myself wondering what I should even do with these pieces, leaving my room sounds like too much of a bother. Ultimately, I end up leaving the pieces where they are and just falling asleep and hoping they don’t leave much of a disturbance.

I wake up again greeted by my fan, I continue to stare at the fan. I begin to realize I forget to turn off the fan throughout the day and wonder how the fan is still able to continue to move throughout this past week. I look at the pile of wood on the floor and dread having to deal with it, I also dread fixing my bulb. I wonder why I didn’t fix this before. I miss my home, I miss my friends. I want a way to go back.

I take a peek out the window and see the neighbor walking the dog, something on her wrist catches my attention, a very expensive watch. I continue to admire the watch, letting my mind wonder. What if I could get my hands on it? The gust of wind hits me from my fan at the nightstand, and I am brought back to reality. No, I can’t do that, that’s bad.

I look back at the mess on my floor. I look back at my hand, its embedded into the wall. I did this, I hit the wall. The grey wall, the grey wall that just won’t satisfy me. Again, I notice the metal fan hitting me with its wind. I look back at it, and I feel like it looks back at me. I trudge out of bed, leaving it unmade and disorganized and walk to work.

I return greeted by the fan, but I don’t notice the fan’s air this time. I barely remember anything that happens outside of this room, yet I barely care about anything inside of the room. I look at the fan. It insults me. Its so innocent, its so care-free, its so upbeat. The soft wizz of the fan introducing me this room time and time again. It whispers to me, something incoherent, something only I could understand. I don’t want to listen, and I don’t.

I aggressively pull the cord out from the fan and the room becomes dead silent. I begin to hear soft rings in my ear as I stand myself up from the bed and peer at the door of the room. I wish to be back, I want to go back, and I want to stay back.

I go outside. I went to visit my neighbor.

From the window of the room, any onlooker might be able to see a vast explosion of red and blue, and a beautiful sound playing in a systematic loop, a concert. These sounds and sights introducing me back to where I belong. While at my neighbors, I never touched that watch, I didn’t want to, I never really wanted to, and I didn’t need to.

I just wanted to go home.