The Room is a short story that came about almost directly from a dream I had a few nights ago. It involved a room very similar to the one described in the first little bit of the story. The dream was exceptionally vivid, as though I was actually standing in this pristine place. I was touched by my imagination’s creativity, so I decided to see if I could adapt the gist of the dream into a story. It’s not long enough to warrant anything more than a few pages, however, so it finds itself in the short-story category.
What follows is a sneak-peak, so to speak, of The Room. It’s just a little glimpse into the room and the initial reaction its inhabitant has upon seeing it. Check back on occasion for updates or expansions. Thanks.
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The Room
The room was small, as far as rooms goes. However, its size did not detract from its appeal. In fact, its diminutive proportions lent it an air of charm that would have been lost on a larger space. The close walls and low ceiling felt intimate, as if the room itself was trying to hold and comfort its inhabitants. Most of the walls were studies in vacuity with nothing marring their eggshell surfaces; no paintings, clocks, or wall hangings. Like the room’s size, though, it was not the oppressive sight that one would expect. Their emptiness seemed simple and fresh rather than barren and bleak. The color spread from the walls up to the ceiling, blurring the lines between the two. The thick eggshell-tinted carpet resting across the floor seemed to caress one’s feet, as though they walked upon water. Only a window marred the perfection of the room, though even then it seemed to be a natural part of the greater whole with its simple, minimalist framing and design.
The light slipped gently through the window, illuminating the room in a soft, subtle way not normally found in reality. The lines cast upon the opposite wall were too clean, too perfect in their placement. The resulting glow was a touch too bright, its intensity a reminder that the room couldn’t possibly be real. And yet that light also anchored the room, proving to any wary observer that, of course the room was real for it existed within the world beyond the window. But to most, such assurances would matter little because the room generated such a feeling of comfort that such thoughts rarely surfaced.
A leather chair sat within the room, with the window to its left and the glowing reflection to its right. Like the rest of the place, there was little to distinguish the chair except for its obvious comfort. The leather was a deep brown, almost bordering on black, and was exceptionally soft, playing across the skin like a soft breeze. Its high back and large armrests seemed to engulf whoever sat within, protected even further from all that threatened. Its four short mahogany legs rested lightly on the carpet, holding the chair at the perfect height. The chair’s contrast in color to the rest of the room was eye-jarring upon first glance but quickly the mind accepted such things. Upon the second glance, the chair seemed, much like the window, a natural part of the greater whole. In simple terms, the room was absolutely perfect.
And this didn’t sit well with the man therein.
He stood at the far end of the room, facing the large chair, with a mild air of unrest about him. As a creature of flesh, perfection was not in his nature and everything that was given the attribute of “perfect” was something that deserved a measure of wariness. However, he couldn’t, despite his best effort, attribute anything malicious to the room, the window, or the chair. An overwhelming sense of belonging flooded his spirit, then, as if the room spoke directly to him. For a moment, he struggled to place the feeling. Then he knew. The room seemed a perfect adaptation of everything that would comfort the man and lead him toward a sense of peace and security. It was perfect in this because it had been made explicitly for him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that fact.
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