Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ That's just his way... ❯ That's just his way... ( Chapter 1 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: _Kamikakushi 
An empty room. One moment in time. My world turned upside down. [Brief description]
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.16.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 424 | Visits: 553 | Status: Completed
An empty room. One moment in time. My world turned upside down. [Brief description]
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.16.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 424 | Visits: 553 | Status: Completed
This description is based on the room of someone that I hold dear to me. The details have not been altered or changed in any way.
Once, when his sister invited me over to their house, I stopped by his room. Don't ask me why. I just wanted to see it. To see where he slept, where he studied, how he lived. To see anything that reminded me of him. I remember seeing the walls, so starkeningly white and bare. Nothing. No pictures, no posters, not even a nail in the wall. I remember the wooden floor, free of dust and grime, but no rugs. Just cold wooden planks and I found myself wondering how he could stand it in the winter. The door to his closet wasn't open, denying me any views of what would have undoutedly been a neat-freak's dream. I wanted to yank on the handle and see inside, as if to prove my theory wrong, but it was shut. Closed off. Just like him. I remember his desk. His laptop, school things, and a mystery of unopened drawers were the only things that made up his study area. I remember the little wooden stand next to his bed. It was white, just like the walls. With only a light and a clock. And then, of course, there was his bed. White sheets tucked in, boring plaid comforter, white pillow. I used to think that white was peaceful, just like snow. But snow is cold. And the more I saw it in such a small space, the more I loathed the lifeless color and it's lack of any sort of hue. I remember blinking several times and looking around, searching for any personal effects other than these strange, foreign pieces of furniture. I wanted to see traces of him everywhere but there were none. Only a tidy, unpersonalized room. So empty, clean, and organized. Just the necessities, never excess. It was a painful sight. I had been so curious to peer inside, so desperate to walk in and see him plastered all over the walls. But I didn't get any of that. I've been acquainted with the details of his living quarters much more than I would liked have to been, and as far as I know, it could have belonged to any other guy in the world. It didn't belong to him. That room, it's not his. That boy, it's not him.
Review please!
Once, when his sister invited me over to their house, I stopped by his room. Don't ask me why. I just wanted to see it. To see where he slept, where he studied, how he lived. To see anything that reminded me of him. I remember seeing the walls, so starkeningly white and bare. Nothing. No pictures, no posters, not even a nail in the wall. I remember the wooden floor, free of dust and grime, but no rugs. Just cold wooden planks and I found myself wondering how he could stand it in the winter. The door to his closet wasn't open, denying me any views of what would have undoutedly been a neat-freak's dream. I wanted to yank on the handle and see inside, as if to prove my theory wrong, but it was shut. Closed off. Just like him. I remember his desk. His laptop, school things, and a mystery of unopened drawers were the only things that made up his study area. I remember the little wooden stand next to his bed. It was white, just like the walls. With only a light and a clock. And then, of course, there was his bed. White sheets tucked in, boring plaid comforter, white pillow. I used to think that white was peaceful, just like snow. But snow is cold. And the more I saw it in such a small space, the more I loathed the lifeless color and it's lack of any sort of hue. I remember blinking several times and looking around, searching for any personal effects other than these strange, foreign pieces of furniture. I wanted to see traces of him everywhere but there were none. Only a tidy, unpersonalized room. So empty, clean, and organized. Just the necessities, never excess. It was a painful sight. I had been so curious to peer inside, so desperate to walk in and see him plastered all over the walls. But I didn't get any of that. I've been acquainted with the details of his living quarters much more than I would liked have to been, and as far as I know, it could have belonged to any other guy in the world. It didn't belong to him. That room, it's not his. That boy, it's not him.
Review please!