Emotion

The room was stark white. The walls, floors and furniture all had a cold, sanitary feel to them. Everything was sharp edges and hard surfaces. Bright light seemed to come from everywhere, reflecting and blinding. I moved the furniture around every so often, always facing the back of the room. The only thing I could not move was The Chair.

The Chair sat in the middle of the room, firmly rooted in the floor. It, too, was white, but not as hard. Compared to the rest of the room, it was like floating on a cloud. It was cushioned with a high back, sitting on a round white carpet. In spite of its comfort, I only sat in it when the pain of the other chairs became too great. For The Chair faced The Door.

The Door was black, almost like the night sky in the room of white. My eyes could not look at it - the color so jarring that it made my eyes water. The Door had been closed for many years, for when it opened it showed the color of pain. I ignored it, willing it to somehow become white like the rest of the room, but it continued to mock me with its dark hue.

One day, as I sat upon one of the hard chairs at the angular desk, I heard a knocking. It was like a gunshot in the silent room, jarring me from my thoughts. My heart jumped, and I spun around to look at The Door. Maybe I had imagined it, but it was so loud. I sat there, staring at the black surface. There was another knock. It was a real sound on a real surface, and I slowly stood. I walked to The Chair and sat, wondering if it would happen again. One more knock.

My breath short, I walked towards it. I was afraid to open it, afraid that the red would come streaming in to stain the white room. I was afraid not to open it. So I did. I opened The Door. A yellow light rushed in, bathing the room in its soft glow. I stepped back from The Door and allowed the fresh air to wash over me.

Just as suddenly, the light turned to red and was sucked out of the room. The Door slammed, sudden silent. I backed up and fell into The Chair.

It was red now.