Cell + 8
I awoke to another typed letter this morning. Today it sat on top of my journal, rather than hidden beneath it. There is nothing I can recall of its arrival. It was simply there when I woke up.
It said:
“Having already made an overture towards understanding your plight, we think you are ready for the next step. You will see us in time, but today we ask that you focus on something else. Your “cell”, is it truly as you have described? Your bed, for example, is it without sheets? What about the rear wall? Look closely, and don’t be afraid of what you may find. There is nothing to fear.”
The last line is separate from the rest of the note, and in a larger, bold text.
I can’t say that this note put me at ease, but I will admit that my terror for it is unborn. After so long with nothing to do, nothing to stimulate my interest, it is a welcome interaction, even if it only amounts to a correspondence with myself. I may as well find out what that other version of me has to say.
Accepting the challenge, I turned and stared blankly at my striped mattress void of sheets. For a moment, there was nothing, and then within a soft undertow my eyes felt the outline begin to softly change. There was no sudden or jarring shift, only a slow metamorphosis from one shape to another.
Gently, creases rose from the mattress to form rolling hills of fabric, and a pillow began to inflate at one end. I don’t recall it dropping, but realized my jaw was wide open in bewilderment. A moment later, there was the clear image of sheets and a thin comforter folded down below the pillows front edge.
From a barren, naked mattress came what was clearly a fully dressed bed. It was tossed in appearance, as if someone had slept there without getting under the sheets for some time.
Unsure, I closed and rubbed my lids. When I opened them, it was only a mattress once more. My shoulders slumped as sadness slid its cold fingers in. One blink later, the image reverted back to show the sheets and pillow.
Still unable to place trust in my eyes, I got up, walked to the shape shifting bed, and reached out to touch the pillow. My hand flinched when the pillow’s soft, plump skin touched back. Quickly, I lowered my hand once more and traced the edges of where pillow dropped to sheet, to where sheet gave way to comforter.
Each came with a change in feel, in texture. The voice of my hands echoed that of my eyes. They claimed together that what I saw, what I felt, was real.
Once again, I closed and rubbed my eyes. This time, when I opened them there was no change.
As I stared in wonder, I noticed the wall behind the bed begin to change. Where there was only stone, white began to bleed, emanating from the bed out and up in a growing half circle. Stone eased and softened to sheetrock and paint.
Devouring the stone, the white crept beneath my feet as well, turning the floor to linoleum or tile.
Climbing the walls and bleaching the floor, the room shed the gloom of an ancient prison cell and began to resemble something like a modern hospital, with one exception. In the emptiness of the open wall, iron bars spilled slowly from the ceiling to the floor.
Caught in the moment, I remembered what the note had said and turned to the rear wall.
Again, there was a moment of nothing, and then it began to change. Centered high in the wall pierced a blinding light. I squinted at its brightness and lifted my hand to provide a brick of shade to my eyes. It was like watching a sun burst to life mere feet away, and to further this notion warmth fell over me.
Still shielding my eyes, I turned them down to the light pouring over me. Caught in an aura of white, my skin and clothes eased my pupil’s tighter. In a moment, I was able to drop my hand and look back at the wall.
Like watching a dense cloud of white smoke bath the stone, painted walls radiated out and buried the coarse rock. At the epicenter of this color wave, a window painted itself into the wall, and left path for my eyes to the bright sun beyond. It struck alive, and breathing out its warm breath, against a square of deep blue within the window’s frame.
It felt like years since I’d seen the sun, and my eyes drank the sight with lusting appetite. Could it be that I’d never trapped such beauty? Could it be a sign of the changes this surging tide promised?
Could it be I found the remnants of a burned and wounded deity long buried within? Could this be happiness pushing its way to the door, and gathering its strength to dash through?
I can’t say that I’ll sleep well tonight, but I must put this down. I’m too anxious to write.
From the emptiness just outside my cell…sorry, my room, a small piece of paper slid across the floor.
“Baby steps can still trace the circumference of the globe if given time. Congratulations.”
I smiled and absorbed the warmth dripping in my new window.
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