You are now unable to leave the room you are in for the next week. Write about your experiences day by day.
My first thoughts as they shut the door and lock it are “Well, I suppose it could be worse”. My next thought is “It could be cleaner”. It is only hours later that I think of food. By then, it is too late to escape my confinement. The next few hours are spent shouting for someone to “grill me a cheese”. No one hears me.
This room is cruel without food and water. If I had known there was no chance for food I would have planned accordingly, or at least cut a hole in the door for food to be delivered. I did not think ahead and I might starve here, in this room of many colors. In other news, the paint is not edible, neither are book pages. Still no one hears my shouts of “Grill me a cheese!”
Surprisingly, I feel a bit better. I cleaned up the messy areas and found a dime and three pennies. It does not seem like much, but once out of this room I only need 87 more to make a dollar and buy me something from the dollar menu. Dang it! Now I’m hungry again. I must not think of food and water. I can survive this!
I continued to clean up and found a bag of half eaten trail mix. The nuts are stale and the raisins are beyond eating, but the chocolate is edible. Now if only I had something to quench my insatiable thirst! In other news, there were more books in here than I thought.
It is only now, after four abd a half days in confinement, that I realize those stains are not coming out of the carpet. I tried to make most of it into the trashcan, but the carpet will have to be replaced. The smell is also unbearable. I am forced to wipe myself with binder paper, which has now become my food source. The fiber does wonders for my colon, but is not as palatable as a steak. Mmmmmm, food. Dang it, not again! Two more days in this hell and then I am free.
I have read all the books there are to read, eaten most of the paper, and used up all of the yarn to knit and crochet people for me to talk to. I need a life outside this room, and desperately soon. Mr. Yarny Bob says I might need therapy after this, but I tell him to shut his trap before I tear him apart and build a new yarn person. At least it’s better than talking to the voices in my head. They’re scary!
Only a few hours remain before my freedom, and I anticipate my release. I require a shower and real food and water. For now I sit and twiddle my thumbs. The room is clean (with the exception of a few spots), and I got all of my reading done and my yarn all knitted and crocheted. Next time, if there is a next time, I will definitely stock up better.
The door opens and I smile. They grilled me a cheese.