The Room I Sit In
Hitting me like a smack between the eyes, a thick, musty atmosphere, heavy with scents of age, Italian cooking and Dior Poison. Binding my head, it induces an intense numbness and I struggle to keep my eyes open.
From what I can see, an equally heavy golden haze covers the room like a mantle. Vision blurred, I see fire pokers, charred, burnt black. I go to the lit fire - I am too small to see my face in the glass above. Looking around, many things are out of place, since she likes to prepare things beforehand. A large creeping plant's leaves, like arms, stretch out at my fatigue as I compete to stay awake. Outside, winter rain spills down and souses ice-crusted plants with its harsh refreshment. The slowly darkening sky ushers in a forbidding, sombre mood, too callous for my young outlook.
Hearing the crackling fire, the flames, like tongues, lick my face with heat. I listen to the dry laughs from aunts in the other room, and fast, foreign conversation that I cannot k