Morsals of Madness

The White Room

The room itself was stark,
devoid of all feeling or personality
The sterile white walls bare but for a single painting
Within its frame a picture
Nothing fancy or particularly interesting
Just a mass of haphazard circles
A question mark placed at odd angles within their never ending lines.

In the far corner stood a tree of some kind
Neglected, gathering dust
The cobwebs intricately weaved within its leaves
Telling her its purpose was long since forgotten.

Needing to focus, her eyes moved slowly around the room
To her left a metal filing cabinet Its lock rusting
As were the lives encased Within the files kept for future reference.

To her right a water cooler
Half empty but still bubbling away
The plastic cups discarded thoughtlessly
Almost filling the waste paper basket beside it.

With nothing left to detract attention
The real reason she was here loomed in the darkness
She sheepishly looked ahead at the man behind the brown melamine desk
His aged face quizzing her every movement
His dark eyes fixed as he probed her every thought.

He sat, seemingly relaxed
Perfectly manicured hands entwined
Comfortably rested in front of his bearded face.

Time seemed to stop as he sat unmoving
Darkened eyes still watching
Waiting for a sign that he could begin…

That she was ready.

R.M Roberts ©2010


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