Fiction: Greek Week
this story is not about sororities or fraternities. this might be a wildly inappropriate title. 1132 words.
Greek Week
On the first day Persephone entered the room.
She hooked up the cable TV in the corner, black cords snaking across the white floor, the screen flickering oddly before it picked up the signal. She measured all the corners of the room, very carefully writing down dimensions in a notebook on the floor. She changed into her long blue dress and laid down on the mattress.
On the second day she drew windows on the ceiling, in permanent marker, thick black lines against the white paint. She screamed at the ceiling and sat down on the mattress, weeping into her knees.
On the third day she received a letter, pushed in under the door. the door was also white, with no handles or knobs on this side, just a thin crack around the edges from which light protruded at night, sending faint gray rays of illumination into the darkness. She opened the letter and read it. Afterward, she wept into her knees for an hour before she would turn the television off.
Slowly, she gathered news of the outside world. She would lay on her side on the mattress, her dark hair falling down to lie on the floor in a heap, blue dress pooling around her knees. Once every few programs she would write down a phrase in big, black marker on the paper.
TENDRÉ UNA CASE PEQUEÑA, PERO VIAJARÉ POR EL MUNDO she wrote, followed closely by I CAN'T EVEN AVOID MYSELF.
On the third day she braided her hair, pulling the long plaits down the front of her dress, braiding and unbraiding her hair as if the braids were uneven, as if they would never be even. She turned the television onto an opera concert and screamed at the windows on the ceiling. Another letter came. She didn't open this one but set it gently on top of the other one, in the corner of the room. In case the measurements had changed, she made them again, measuring each corner as precisely as she could.
Later that day a letter came again. She did not touch it and instead laid on the mattress flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths until they got to one thousand. When the lights went out she curled up on her side, ignoring the screaming barely audible through the thick white door.
On the fourth day something shook the door. This time she could hear the screaming and walked over to the door, reaching out with one and to lay her palm against it, gently. The door shook so hard that dust fell from the ceiling, covering her hand with a thin coating of white, then it stopped. She looked down at her hand, blew off the dust and measured the corners again, just in case the shaking threw the measurements off, before watching the Colbert Report on the television and having breakfast.
HERE'S HOPING I WILL NOT DROWN she wrote on the paper, then, later, 65758331999999.
The fifth day the door opened just a crack. The noises became louder. She approached the door cautiously, holding her hand out in front of her like it contained a weapon, placing her bare feet carefully on the white floor. She pushed on the door gently and it opened a bit more, just enough to look out. A man in the hallway outside was lying on the ground with a pool of dark liquid next to his head. She knelt beside him and moved his head to one side, watching the liquid ooze out slowly. The rest of the hallway was full of tiny green pieces of paper, torn into strips about the size of her thumbnail. Down the hallway, someone screamed, and she looked up just long enough to let the hem of her blue dress touch the pool of dark liquid.
She rose cautiously, backing up into the room, the pulled the door closed with her fingertips until it was as closed as she could get it. She turned on the television and watched an infomercial, with her back to the door, afraid to turn around. The liquid on her dress left long red stains on the floor when it touched the white paint. No more letters came through.
The sixth day the screaming outside stopped and the cable went out. When she woke up in the middle of the night the television was flickering gray static across the dark room, casting pale shadows on her face. She stood up slowly, listening for sounds in the darkness, and when she turned around the door was open.
There were more people in the halls this time, more pools of dark liquid. A man in a gas mask at the end of the hallway turned around and looked at her, his large plastic eyes staring into hers, and she leaned against the open door, on this side backed with steel. Without speaking, she backed into the white room, pulling the door closed with her fingertips again.
Later the man with the gas mask came by and opened the door. He apologized for the mess and offered to have her blue dress cleaned, giving her a red one in return. When he left he shut the door.
I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE she wrote that night in the notebook, in the light of the static TV screen, her hand shaking slightly. The red stains across the floor looked black, like a wounded animal had drug itself towards her mattress to die.
The seventh day the lights came back on and the cable came back on also. While she slept the blue dress appeared on the floor, neatly folded, and when she woke Persephone took off the red dress, peeling the clingy fabric away from her pale skin. She pulled the blue dress over her had slowly, smoothing it out over her knees, pulling her dark hair out from under its knotted straps.
She folded the red dress and lay it neatly in the place where the blue dress had been. Outside the door, someone was screaming something that sounded like her name, but the sound faded as she walked to the door, laying her palm against its surface. It was quiet and no dust fell from the ceiling.
Later Persephone measured the corners again, nothing they were a half-inch better this time. Something inside her head ticked like a clock in the silence. Another letter came in under the door, while she was watching a program about coral reefs, but she did not touch it.
When the door opened that night the man in the gas mask was back. He escorted her into the hallway, free of green paper and dark pools, and together they exited through the double doors.
Greek Week
On the first day Persephone entered the room.
She hooked up the cable TV in the corner, black cords snaking across the white floor, the screen flickering oddly before it picked up the signal. She measured all the corners of the room, very carefully writing down dimensions in a notebook on the floor. She changed into her long blue dress and laid down on the mattress.
On the second day she drew windows on the ceiling, in permanent marker, thick black lines against the white paint. She screamed at the ceiling and sat down on the mattress, weeping into her knees.
On the third day she received a letter, pushed in under the door. the door was also white, with no handles or knobs on this side, just a thin crack around the edges from which light protruded at night, sending faint gray rays of illumination into the darkness. She opened the letter and read it. Afterward, she wept into her knees for an hour before she would turn the television off.
Slowly, she gathered news of the outside world. She would lay on her side on the mattress, her dark hair falling down to lie on the floor in a heap, blue dress pooling around her knees. Once every few programs she would write down a phrase in big, black marker on the paper.
TENDRÉ UNA CASE PEQUEÑA, PERO VIAJARÉ POR EL MUNDO she wrote, followed closely by I CAN'T EVEN AVOID MYSELF.
On the third day she braided her hair, pulling the long plaits down the front of her dress, braiding and unbraiding her hair as if the braids were uneven, as if they would never be even. She turned the television onto an opera concert and screamed at the windows on the ceiling. Another letter came. She didn't open this one but set it gently on top of the other one, in the corner of the room. In case the measurements had changed, she made them again, measuring each corner as precisely as she could.
Later that day a letter came again. She did not touch it and instead laid on the mattress flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths until they got to one thousand. When the lights went out she curled up on her side, ignoring the screaming barely audible through the thick white door.
On the fourth day something shook the door. This time she could hear the screaming and walked over to the door, reaching out with one and to lay her palm against it, gently. The door shook so hard that dust fell from the ceiling, covering her hand with a thin coating of white, then it stopped. She looked down at her hand, blew off the dust and measured the corners again, just in case the shaking threw the measurements off, before watching the Colbert Report on the television and having breakfast.
HERE'S HOPING I WILL NOT DROWN she wrote on the paper, then, later, 65758331999999.
The fifth day the door opened just a crack. The noises became louder. She approached the door cautiously, holding her hand out in front of her like it contained a weapon, placing her bare feet carefully on the white floor. She pushed on the door gently and it opened a bit more, just enough to look out. A man in the hallway outside was lying on the ground with a pool of dark liquid next to his head. She knelt beside him and moved his head to one side, watching the liquid ooze out slowly. The rest of the hallway was full of tiny green pieces of paper, torn into strips about the size of her thumbnail. Down the hallway, someone screamed, and she looked up just long enough to let the hem of her blue dress touch the pool of dark liquid.
She rose cautiously, backing up into the room, the pulled the door closed with her fingertips until it was as closed as she could get it. She turned on the television and watched an infomercial, with her back to the door, afraid to turn around. The liquid on her dress left long red stains on the floor when it touched the white paint. No more letters came through.
The sixth day the screaming outside stopped and the cable went out. When she woke up in the middle of the night the television was flickering gray static across the dark room, casting pale shadows on her face. She stood up slowly, listening for sounds in the darkness, and when she turned around the door was open.
There were more people in the halls this time, more pools of dark liquid. A man in a gas mask at the end of the hallway turned around and looked at her, his large plastic eyes staring into hers, and she leaned against the open door, on this side backed with steel. Without speaking, she backed into the white room, pulling the door closed with her fingertips again.
Later the man with the gas mask came by and opened the door. He apologized for the mess and offered to have her blue dress cleaned, giving her a red one in return. When he left he shut the door.
I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE she wrote that night in the notebook, in the light of the static TV screen, her hand shaking slightly. The red stains across the floor looked black, like a wounded animal had drug itself towards her mattress to die.
The seventh day the lights came back on and the cable came back on also. While she slept the blue dress appeared on the floor, neatly folded, and when she woke Persephone took off the red dress, peeling the clingy fabric away from her pale skin. She pulled the blue dress over her had slowly, smoothing it out over her knees, pulling her dark hair out from under its knotted straps.
She folded the red dress and lay it neatly in the place where the blue dress had been. Outside the door, someone was screaming something that sounded like her name, but the sound faded as she walked to the door, laying her palm against its surface. It was quiet and no dust fell from the ceiling.
Later Persephone measured the corners again, nothing they were a half-inch better this time. Something inside her head ticked like a clock in the silence. Another letter came in under the door, while she was watching a program about coral reefs, but she did not touch it.
When the door opened that night the man in the gas mask was back. He escorted her into the hallway, free of green paper and dark pools, and together they exited through the double doors.