My nails were left on the floor covered with blood. I saw the way I tried to put my nails back on my fingers. For the first time, I thought I heard a sound. The screeching sounds of my nails touching the stone walls. But in the end, it was just my thoughts of a screeching sound. Everything still did not have any sound. I just felt that the gestures I did might have produced such horrible sounds. The nails were never that clean as before. Disappointed.
I was not me. Yet I knew that I loved me. I saw a one way mirror hanging on the closed room. There was an empty table at the other room, just waiting there diagonally placed near the mirror. I was too happy that I knew no one would see me from across. I made my eyes explore along the dimensions of the room from behind the mirror. There was an empty white cup on the floor, no dust yet no coffee. In this place, I saw an assurance of solitude. It was not that bad at all. There were still my favorite stairs, built on every side and corner of the room. I could go anywhere I want, either upstairs, downstairs, sidestairs, crossstairs, upsidedownstairs, anywhere. But there was that difficulty of going upstairs. I felt like I was not walking but instead I was crawling my way up. Going downstairs was the best. I just fell right to the center and still stand upright. Until someone lit a fire and all the stairs started to break that they fell and opened along empty corridors.
It was so fascinating. Red, orange, and yellow hues of the fire covered the entire room. The three colors illuminated the openings of the corridors. I saw different people from the different times in my life. There were the school children from my elementary, the friends I had from high school, the neighbors we had from the past ten years, my grandparents, and a lot of unnamed faces.
Brown. Blue. Black. Gray. Hazel.
Eyes shut close, rusting nails pounding. Blood flows.
Cheeks were warm and I saw the beauty as before but redder than the rose.
I had my eyes placed on every wall, on every person’s nape. No matter where I go, I could see everything. It was like the cinema, every scene flashed across a wide screen and i was to see every motion done. I tried to walk but then it was of another character’s body I was in that I was able to see through his or her perspective. Then the camera would move that I would be in another person’s body that I saw through his perspective and the scene was as different as before.
There were endless movies along these corridors. There were endless opportunities for stories to be seen. There were endless possibilities for escape. Yet the best room along the empty corridors was that of the room of dreams. The room where I could rest and sleep. Every after my movie marathon, I would search for the comfort of this room for this was the only place from this world that I could relax, replenish my youth and forget about the world.
Aside from the comfort that I got from the room of dreams, I learned to love that place because of its magnificent display of the white and black shades. I remembered how I considered those two shades as colors back in my younger days. I liked how the two combinations showed elegance in a very simple manner. A clean white background could release a very dashing inspiration for a new design, a new story, a new world. On the other hand, black showed great power and ironic beauty. It could prescribe an endless emotion for the unknown, the past, the creatures that hunt our dreams, yet it also showcased the beauty of the night, the starry sky, the simplicity of life. I adored those ideas that I kept these two shades included in my box of hues. This was a secret. I had pledged never to reveal this. Though I thought it would never hurt anyone I would share my experience that in every color I kept it my special box it would make me keep a memory of my life. Those hues were my passport to my memories. They were my only companions.