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Her body sits hunched.
Her mind in a place far away.
Alone.
The small white room in which she sits; intensely still, intensely silent.
Like a shadow, she is silent. Silence is depression. Silence is her weapon - her purposeful isolation, the only way to survive.
Her dull, rhythmical heartbeat, is droned out by the comforting sound of the computer, which composes merely a monotonous whirr.
Her eyes, faded green, wander up along the crack in the wall. The scar - a visual symbol of the room's character; tired, sombre, wounded. But for her there is no outward symbol. No scar. Just her eyes.
The white paint; like the hard shell on her outside, is beginning to damage the paint; crusted and peeling, her barriers are being broken down pieces of her soul once torn apart, now irreplaceable. Her spirit is painstakingly breaking away, the pieces of her being, lost eternally - exposing her, like that of the walls' gnarled, rotting wood.
Those walls of the room hold incessant secrets of hundreds of years - she holds incomprehensible secrets with such depth, that she could not bear to face them.
The ceiling; heavy, confining threatening. She feels as though the walls are closing in on her; as if there is no way out. Her mind; trapped. Her thoughts spiralling. Over and over. She cannot escape. She wants refuge.
The walls are barren a feeling of desolation emanates from the room, echoing inside her. The wooden desk; worn and disfigured; with each blemish inflicted over time, taking its toll the desk barely reminiscent of its original glory. Now it simply sits in a state of nothingness; looking weary, distressed depressing
Depression, riddling her body like cancer, parching, stripping her of her freedoms; of her love. Like the sound of grinding metal; relentlessly playing over in her mind, each time screaming with a louder intensity louder, and louder until the hurtling screams drive her to insanity; drive her to silence. Never asleep. Never awake. Never anywhere just no-where. Nothing.
The beeps of the computer echoed in the empty room cold, harsh noises. Her eyes abruptly focus on the screen.
Her eyes a faded green, seemed hollow, symbolic of the room's sheer emptiness. The shell of a person, like the gnarled frame of the old battered walls is all that remains .. her pain etched in her soul; stripped away her beauty, invaded her mind, and perforated her body.
Leaving nothing.
A mere shadow.
A robot.
A spiritless being.
Like a forest of dead trees; barren, empty, contorted her spirit has been raped she reeks of utter nothingness.
So began her escape.
As the game loads she feels a rush of relief. Of respite.
She does not have to think she does not have to think.
She lives a life of lies, hiding from the truth; from reality from her heart. She is forever mourning defenceless, yet so defensive. An aching heart yet so heartless.
She seeks not be cured of these burdens, but to be free of them.She wants only to be loved, but does not know how to let herself be loved, and cannot love herself.
She desires only refuge from the pain that ceaselessly plagues her haunting her; hunting her. So there she sits, endlessly for hours on end; zonked and entranced in a world that requires no emotion, a world that requires no heart, and a world that requires no spirit.
The looming ceiling and its feeling of imprisonment envelop the small room, leaving only the woman alone; hunched in a pathetic attempt to relieve the weight from her shoulders.
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