Before I walked through these doors of the unknown my clothes smelled like the fresh detergent my mom has used as long as I can remember. I will later walk out of this minuscule, dust infected room reeking like the tenacious odor of bleach and insect spray. My eyes keep escaping my mind wandering around the room to peer at all of the clutter and empty boxes that are taking up precious space that could be used for more fresh mops and supplies. Sitting next to me there’s an old fashioned telephone that looks as if it hasn’t been used in decades. To me, the only thing that it’s doing is collecting four layers of dust. Pitch it. I hate clutter. I could easily stay in here all day to clean and organize this disaster. The only thing that’s stopping me would be the tear droplets that are starting to dribble down my cheeks from the chemicals that are hanging in the air and beginning to give me a migraine. For every minute I’m locked in this cell I lose 3 million brain cells. There’s an annoying buzzing sound coming from the large metal box that’s floating about ten feet above my head and the sound of my shoe tapping the ground anxiously to try and keep my eyelids open. The only thing that’s keeping my eyelids from shutting is that I’m forced to stay in here for the rest of the hour. As far as I know I’m in here alone, but I wouldn’t be surprised if families of rats and cockroaches that are found periodically throughout the school are hiding in here with me. This place should be sealed off from the rest of humanity for eternity. No one deserves to endure what I just experienced.
The Doors to the Unknown
March 15, 2011