A Room for You

A man in a suit answers the door.

"We've been expecting you"

The room is filled with potted flowers and ferns. It is humid. It is a large open room with a high ceiling. Sun pours in through the glass roof. It is blinding. The long reflective tile floor leads to another door. As you approach it opens.

The room is small and dark. The only light comes from a flickering phosphorescent tube shining through a yellow covering at the rear of the room. The walls are bare. The room is empty except for a table and a chair that is facing away from you toward the back wall.

After standing around for a few moments, you sit down.

The table is made of oak. It looks old. It looks to be in great condition, except for in the corner where someone etched in "no fated hour", likely with a knife.

Touching the top with your hands you feel the coldness of the table compared to your hot skin. You imagine people eating off this table. Maybe fifty years ago in a nice three-bedroom house by the beach. A mother, father, and two kids - boys. The boys were just outside playing cops and robbers when they came in to eat dinner. Tonight it was chicken, stuffing, corn, and a fruit salad. Before they ate they had one of the boys say a prayer. Afterward they cleaned the table together as a family then watched a movie together.

And then suddenly you notice the eminent sound of your breathing filling the room around you. It is not loud, but is pressing.

The table is cold and the room is dark. No one comes in to get you. Twice you get up out of your chair and walk around in circles before sitting down again. Then, at last, you get up and leave.

No one says a word to you as you head out.