dotism.org · The Room

THE ROOM

He walked through the door, which fit him precisely, into a room of impossible size. It seemed to him to be a perfectly square room, with stone walls of equal proportions, but in fact it was longer than it was wide and sheltered by a ceiling of infinite height. He stood momentarily in the doorway, blinded by the sun which shone on to his face through the hundreds of tall windows standing guard from equidistant positions surrounding the space he had by this time now entered. He looked up as he walked forward and felt fondness for what he found above him, which was nothing.

As he walked he noticed a small table standing at the far end of the room, almost as far from him as was possible. The table was apparently constructed of a hard wood and stood seemingly misplaced as it was positioned slightly askew amidst the abundant perfection in angles seen everywhere else in the room. The table appeared to be heavy despite its diminutive size, and he fought against the impulse to run to the table and straighten it, for fear of causing himself an unnecessary overexertion. He continued walking towards the table, as it seemed to him to be a worthwhile destination, but the ambition of reaching the table frustrated him as the table appeared to be in a constant state of retreat: the further he advanced towards the table, the further away it seemed.

In an effort to make sense of—or at least cause the cessation of—this sense of endless distancing, he closed his eyes tightly and visualized his breath, picturing that each breath measured a step, and each step would bring him closer to the table. When calm and confident in his determination for the closure of the gap between himself and the table, he opened his eyes to discover not only that he had indeed reached the table, but that the table had been rightened to follow the plane of the room and that across the table three figures had joined him.

He made an attempt at identifying the figures, but was instantly troubled by what appeared to be a lack of countenance, for in the place of the figures' visage was something of a void: an emptiness bordered by the tightness of collar below and the stiffness of képi above. He had a taken a moment for himself to understand what there was to make of this nothingness, but the figure in the center spoke to him sharply, the vociferation emanating out of the space where one would normally expect a face.

"What is it that you want?" The centrally-positioned figure asked.

"Yes, what exactly is it that you want?" The figure to the left asked.

He could only assume they were speaking to him, as their lack of eyes left him unsure, though he deduced they were speaking to him by position of brim and thus answered quickly but quietly: "I have come to explain myself; for I have a desire to be understood, to be verified."

"You have come to the wrong room," stated the figure to the right of center, "You must go to the other room and explain yourself there."

He followed the motion of the figures' collective fingered point to a small door which he hadn't noticed until now, being that it was behind him and he had never thought to look there, instead having chosen to focus himself only on what was in front of him and above him. He returned to look at the figures once more and gave them a nod of appreciation before beginning his journey back to the far side of the room. He was angry with himself for making such a foolish mistake and felt heavy with embarrassment and shame at wasting the time of the figures, and made sure to gaze only at the ground lest he become distracted by the room around him again. When he reached the door he felt reassured, for he had reasonably punished himself for his lack of attentive observance and now felt the comfort of being in the proper place at last.