eastofeden-sun

It is white. All white. Then you turn around. You see green and brown and yellow through the shimmering glass exit. This room seems pointless. White, not off-white, white. That's all the room is. There are no tiles on the floor, nor trimming on the walls. Every surface is plaster except for the exit; wide sliding glass doors that take up most of the wall. The white wall. The doors are tightly closed. On the opposing wall from the glass, there is a crack in the plaster as tall as a child. It is thin and black. Through the door lies a deep and wet forest. The plants come right up to the room, ferns pressed up against the glass, aching to come i

Georgia sat in her closet, with her hand spread inches from her face. No light shone into the closet. In the blackness, she slowly moved her hand around her field of view. She once asked her father why cats can see in the dark. "Georgia," he said, "all cats are born in really dark places, like in gutters, under furniture, behind dumpsters. They spend so much time in those dark places before they are able to walk themselves out that their eyes get used to it. It takes a very long time, though." Georgia had figured it would work for her, too. Every chance she got, she was hiding under sheets or locked in closets, waving her hand in front of