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.