Story Space: Frosted Room

frosted glass

Story Space: “When you look at me, you can’t see the frosted box inside my head. It’s a high-security type of glass, and it’s not clear.  I guess I would call it frosted, but not in a happy holiday or sweet dessert kind of way.  It’s like someone took a photo of a window pane during a rainstorm and turned that photo into a piece of glass.

This glass is not meant to give 100% visibility, but they demanded being able to see out a little bit.  This was my compromise with them.  They are allowed into the frosted box from within, but that’s as far as they can go into my mind.  At one point, this was enough to make them happier, but they still want out, especially the one, Q.  The rest, including the 1940’s fighter pilot, Ace, are not as insistent on freedom.

She’s there today, and she’s knocking on the glass, like it’s a door leading to somewhere. I can see her knocking, but I can’t hear her yelling.  I can only see her lips moving and the angry look on her face.  Like a little pounding and an angry look is going to suddenly change my mind after all of these years.

I have a secret that I need to keep from her, and that’s this: the pounding has started to bother me.  Although I can’t hear the yelling, and I can dismiss the angry face and mouth indicative of yelling, I cannot dismiss the vibrations caused by all the pounding.

I guess my resulting headaches are literally what someone more normal than I am would classify as a “pounding headache.”  I think that all of the pounding on the box over time has slightly shifted it to a place where I feel the vibrations.  The easiest solution would be to shift it back to where it felt better, but in the shifting, I risk their escape…and with escape…..well, that’s a story for another day.”

**Story Space: a place to creative snippets of fiction.


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