This is the beginning of a story I started to write. The story ended up morphing/growing into something else and this no longer fit with the idea, but I really loved this opening and even though it’s not finished and slightly abrupt I still had the urge to share it with you all.
White. White. White. White walls, white ceiling, white floor. If a color could make a person go crazy, white, would be that color.
White clock, white pen, white file. White.
Sitting surrounded by all the blankness that is the color white made her anxiety grow stronger.
Tick.
Tick, tick, tick.
If an object could make a person go crazy, a clock would be that object. As if people didn’t notice the passing of time enough, they had to add an insidious ticking sound to keep you informed of every second lapsing.
The combination of the whiteness and ticking was pushing her over the edge. She closed her eyes to avoid the horrid glare and lifted her hands to hers ears. She tried to relax but that was a lost cause she hadn’t felt relaxed since she was five. After years of emotional distress she had virtually lost the entire concept of what it meant to relax. Her hands began to sweat and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t sit there much longer, she began to bounce her knees, nausea crept up into her stomach like a familiar stranger lurking in the shadows. She wouldn’t be able to last any longer, she needed to get out of there before she hurled all over the ugly white walls. Just as she was about to get up a muffled voice saved her and pulled her back into reality.
“Ms. Brooks?” A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, she flinched and opened her eyes, she stared at the woman stunned by her contact.
“Ms. Brooks, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”
She couldn’t put together any words just a simple vertical nod. The woman, a short redhead, with far too much make-up for her age, scurried across the white floor with her white sneakers; they squeaked as the rubber collided with the linoleum. She reached the water cooler, filled a cup and shuffled her way back, squeak, squeak, squeak. Tick, tick, white.
“Here you go Ms. Brooks,” she held the cup in front of her face.
White. A white cup.
How did she expect her to drink water out of a white cup? White is what go her into this position. She took one look at the cup and without thinking swatted it out of the redhead’s hand. Oxygen was simultaneously extracted from the air and pulled into everyone’s lungs, a gasp was heard from all mouths.
“I’m sorry, I just– I just don’t like the color white,” she stammered, sounding slightly confused by her confession.
“No need to explain Ms. Brooks, I don’t like it either. Dr. Willows will see you now.”
She rose from the chair, but she couldn’t move forward. She was stuck in this white box, that ticked, that squeaked, that blinded. The box held her, consumed her and deprived her of rational thought.
Tick. Tick. White.
wordsofhonestunwisdom 