The graying light angles though a rectangular window near the ceiling, casting a shadow on one side of the room and illuminating the woman sitting cross-legged on her bed. Little tornadoes of dust move through the beam which, with an adjustment of the eyes, show a desk stacked with books with a lean-to bookcase, a sweater draped off one shelf.
The room is compact – a pole between parallel walls is filled with hanging clothes. A small door catty cornered from the bed leads to a small funnel for urination and defecation, a slightly raised floor tilts imperceptibly to the corner, draining recycled water from the showerhead during the 30 minute cleansing allowed each week.
She stares up through the window to see the curvilinear gleam of the Circle of Life – then beyond – pure black dotted with the stars and galaxies yet to be named.
It is silent.
She turns on the candle as she pulls out one of the three drawers below her bed. It moves out and then a top piece hinges up and over her legs creating a small table. Meals are served based on the day’s schedule and arrive via the small compartment to the right of the door and above the foot of her bed.
No food has arrived in the last week.
- Library in the Forest Writing Group 2024. We were encouraged to "just write" even if we considered it "bad writing."
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