Author's Note: I got the idea from this from a fic I
read on another site. So don't hurt me!! And yes, this is Beast Wars. Try to
figure out who this is about! ^_~ (Hint: It's my #1 favorite charater!!)
The Room
By: Flyby Stardancer
I stand here looking into a barely-used, icy,
metal bedroom. It feels like a cage, with no windows to the outside world, save
for the plain, ordinary door.
There is dust carpeting the floor, except for
a single, straight trail leading from the barren metal floor outside the door
to the plain metal bed.
Next to the bed, there is a
night stand. It, too, is made of metal. On the night stand, there are two
pictures. One is of the object of the owner's affection and it appears to have
been taken without the permission of the person in it. The other picture is
smaller, and in the shadow of the first. It is of the owner of the room with
his best friend. They are laughing carelessly, as if there were no problems in
the world that they couldn't handle.
Across the worse-for-wear
room, there is a desk, covered with a heavy veil of dust. On the desk is a
laptop, accompanied by a wide, tall tree of books, none of which have been used
recently, all waiting the time when they'll be touched, when they'll be used by
a friend.
The walls have been wallpapered with a wild assortment of posters, ranging from music bands such as BBMak and Britney Spears, to advertisements for amusement parks such as Great America and Six Flags. There are also some for movies, such as a set of four connecting posters from "Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace". Many of the lower ones have three parallel scratches down them, as if a large cat had raked its claws on them instead of using a scratching post.
The only light in the room
comes from an assortment of scattered lamps along the seam between the
poster-covered walls and the plain, boring ceiling.
As a whole, the room has the
feeling of tired energy, of faded hope. A war has gone on in this room. A war
of emotions, good and bad, has left scars that are not seen, but merely felt.
Then, the owner walks in. He
appears to be fairly young, about eighteen years. A sadness plays across his
face as he walks over to the nightstand, picks up the picture of him and his
friend that was in the shadows, and just stands there staring at it for several
long minutes. Finally, the stillness is broken when a tear trails down his
face. The tear dives off of him as it reaches the boy's chin, causing ripples
in the dust where it lands on the floor.
"My friend… What have I
done?"
He sits down on his bed and
holds the picture tightly to his chest, as if imagining he's holding the girl
in the picture. Tears flow more quickly, forming streams that flow down his
face, and rage to the floor, where they congregate in miniature lakes
surrounded by mountains formed by the particles they disturbed. Slowly, he
begins to rock forward and back, whispering things he believes he should have
done.
After what seems like
eternity to him, he puts down the picture, this time where it will dominate his
nightstand like a queen over her kingdom, and lays down on his bed, crying
himself to sleep like a little child without any parents there to comfort him.