Tiny square shaped room

August 29, 2008
Rays from the firey red sun shot straight through a party of bright green curtains, spawning an impetuous alternative color within the walls of the tiny square shaped room, where a boy lay on his bed, nearly slipping back into his slumber; back to the safe regions of his dreams that enlessley outspread across his mind. Holding beutiful images of all kind. Thank God this boy had his dreams, for they were all he had ever known outside of his small ugly room, the bathroom, and his hideous, horrifying, horrendous mother. Yes, he rather despised her, but out of fear that she might inflict malice upon him, he never let her know. For, she was crazy.

This boys name was Neil Bindle, a twelve year kid, whos every activity revolved around his tiny square shaped room, the bathroom, and (must I mention her again?) his hideous, horrifying, horrendous mother. Activities included: Eating, sleeping, waking, and being homeschooled by the only other person in the house, and you know who I'm talking about. He was skinny with black hair, ocean blue eyes and a pallor skin tone. Seeing his face was like staring straight at the moon, which he frequently did when he couldn't sleep. He didn't have a father anymore; he died on the way to Neils birth in a car crash. He wondered, perhaps, if that was the reason his mom had treated him with such didain. Perhaps she believed that her beloved husband died because of him. He always thought this to be an accurate estimation, but differed from his mother's ignorant thinking. She was the one who had gone and become pregnant with him, and he wasn't driving the car, that of which slammed into her husband, and his father.

Neil wearily inched his eyes open as slowly as he could, hoping in frutile desperation that he wasn't about to punish his pupils by letting the first thing they see, once again, be the sight of that gruesomely familar room. He finally brought himself to open them at full length. "Damn", he murmered under his breath. His heart hung lower than his mother's breasts. It was the very same bleak, bland, Hell of a room, he had woken up to for 12 years. Maybe waking up in the bathtub would provide him with a more wanted lot of scenery. He made a mental note to ask his mother and got up. He yawned and stretched as he actually noticed something unfamiliar: He had woken up late. According to his clock it was exactly 10:47AM. "Weird, the old saggy hag usually wakes me up at 8:00 on the dot; what gives?", he half interestingly half euphorically, said to himself. Though unwantingly, he gathered the kindest tone of voice in his mouth, and called "Hello, mom? Are you not teaching me today?". He waited for an answer. Five seconds went by; then ten; fifteen, and even twenty silent seconds he waited, before once again calling "Mom? Hello?". Still, there was no answer. Could she still be asleep? No, she was the quite a light sleeper. Once, he had woken up at about 3:00am to use the restroom, and when he opened his door, she started bombarding him with screams of ill tempered threats beacause he had interrupted her ever so delicate slumber. "Old bitch" he thought to himself, snapping back into the present reality, where there was a matter at hand to deal with. "Mom are you there?" he said one last time. Still, no one answered his call. He grabbed the handle of the door and opened it, listening to the squeaky creek of hinges. In his gaze were stairs leading down to the rest of the house, straight ahead of him, a bathroom to the upper left of him, and his mother's room at the very uppest region. The door was open. No one occupied her room at the time being. Neil's body started trembling like it had never shaked before, and his heart was flooded with hope. Was she gone for the moment? Had she left for something? Now, in a more anxious voice Neil, called out "Mom if you're here in the house, right now, let me know."......... It was now definate. His mother was not in the house. He knew not where she could have gone (for, she ordered everything they needed off of the internet) and he could care less. The stairs were right there. The stairs that led to the door, which he would undoubtabley use to make his escape. Right in front of him. He was almost crying. Such gle had filled his body at that point. He was finally going to escape that wretched Hell hole and at long last he was going to see what the world looked like when it wasn't being blocked by his crusty, mingy window. He was going feel the breeze rustling through every last fiber of his hair for the first time. He didn't care where he went, as long as it helped the memory of that place fade away he was all for it. Maybe he would let that first breeze carry him to Colorado, somewhere in the mountains, where it snowed, and he could learn how to sled and snowboard, and maybe even ride a snowmobile. Yeah, that's where he'd go. Colorado. He hurtled down the stairs as fast as he could not thinking about anything else but the light of the sun flooding his face. He got to the door. "One last look" he said, now tears streaming down his face and neck. He turned to face the house that had given him so much greif in the past years. He had never seen the downstairs before. It was filled with pictures of the women who had kept his life a miserable and miniscule existence. "Sickening". The walls were just as bleak, just as dreary, and damp as they had been in his room, and the floors were carpeted with the same grayish brown carpet his room had been furnished in. "One last thing to do", still crying, but smiling with a Mischievous accent to it. He went to all of his mother's pictures and turned them down. He made his way back to the door. Now it was time. Still trembling with delight, he unlocked the locks, took the handle of the door, twisted it, and finally, after so many years flung the door straight open.

Light from the firey red sun shot straight through of a party of green curtains, and flooded over the tiny square shaped room, awakening the boy inside. "I had the best dream".

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