A fiery red with flashing flames from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. No curtains, no drapes. This room does not require beauty. A simple, white set of broken blinds barely covers the only window in the room. In the far left corner stands a large mirror that has been shattered and cracked in different places. The many lonely pieces of glass still lay on the floor reflecting the distress of the room.
The sight of the hostile room scorches the eye; the awful stench of stale beer, burning cigarettes and old, stained gym socks mixed together creates an atmosphere of anger and rebellion. The strong flavour of wrath is bitter to the human tongue. The undetectable thick, dense cloud of evil squeezes – chokes – everything within it. The numerous chatters and chimes, clicks and clanks are enough to drive the sane, mad.
Loud, harsh rock music blasts all around the room, emanating from the surround sound system. The screams and squeals of the mad singer travel throughout the room. Angry shrieks are engraved into the mind, creating an enraged soul. The deafening sound of heavy afternoon traffic bellows beneath the window. The honking of angry horns, the swearing of furious drivers and the rumble of car engines mingle to become one. Chaos.
A worn and torn mattress is propped against the wall, as useless as it looks. An old, dusty schoolbag tucked into a far corner covered in millions of spider webs – a home to every type of domestic pests – shows that it has not been used in years. Surrounding the bag are tons of ‘Playboy’ magazines – all opened to disturbing photos and scenes of barely dressed women in obscene positions. A broken, three-legged chair lies on the floor, the fourth leg leans against the wall, bloodstained. A row of heart-stopping photographs is posted across the room of young children; images covered with tiny holes that block the innocence of their faces. A large dart is stuck into one of the boys’ foreheads, emitting a great sense of fear and dread.
As darkness falls upon the room, the distorted, irritated shadows disappear, while the indescribable things of the night lurk about the room. Everything vanishes into the night as the wind howls through the broken window, causing the tattered blinds to clatter like a cold man’s teeth. A broken fan carelessly hangs from the grim ceiling, creaking and cracking monotonously as it is powered by the chilling wind. The loud and nauseating music continues to pound in the room. The harsh clashes of the cymbals, the long shrieks of the metal guitar and the screams of the crowd pierce through space.
The solemn moon shines through the blinds causing bold, white lines to glare across the floor. The moonlight reflects off of the tiny pieces of glass and hits a lonely desk, bringing to light a 9mm revolver with an evil gleam on its shiny, silvery surface. The moonlight brings everything to life. It is the only source of light. On the floor lies a thick black leather jacket that has been sliced down the back with deep gashes. Traces of bloodstains mask the dark floor from the window to the broken door.
The annoyed clouds quickly cover the somber moon and complete darkness falls upon the room like a pouncing lion. The blinds clatter more loudly; the wrecked fan spins more quickly and creaks more loudly, the tempo races in the music. Confusion.
Alone, in a corner, a face. A clock’s face. The four bold red digits blink menacingly in the dark. The loud alarm furiously rings into the night, waiting to be turned off. Everything has been forgotten.