she waits within the deep pink room. entirely pink with a blue flower pot on the table. even the table is pink. she is still where she is. the ceilings & walls have no boundaries. only the crimson shadow of the doorknob is significant. a shade darker. the shadow beneath her beside the table is darker also. but she dares not breathe into that space. the pink curtain casts no shadow of its own.
during the morning she is awkward & careful within the place. she is confined to this room/ she is temporarily bumping into herself while she is here. there is nothing else for her to do. this colour of strangeness & relaxation brings her steadily into herself.
a momentary lapse in concentration. tinged with fear. she is frightened of being peaceful again. she has nothing but herself to work with. she is anxious. she dabs her cheeks with her apron. the colour is warm in her mind. there is a window. but she is too passive to go to it. too tired. her dress & the apron are both pink.
noon already & the colour begins to burn her cheeks. she is beginning to dry up. she has lost perspective of the room. her in relationship to it & it to her. or whether she is actually in a room & not just a hard puddle of colour. tinged with fear. she shuts her eyes.
she bites her apron strings to stop from crying out. there is nothing/ nothing to be afraid of anymore. she is going mad. the pink is seeping beneath her eyelids & into her frame of mind. pink is a peaceful colour. she shuts her eyes/ she covers her face with a pink tea towel.
afternoon & she remembers being afraid of the primitve ocean. & of something aqua that used to be in her kitchen. she does not want to acknowledge that place. nature has turned sour & has bitten her yesterday & the day before. she is placed in here with the colour of her choosing. it is a safe & peaceful place.
if she hadn't been mad she would never have come. there is nothing familiar here. she becomes afraid to go to the window. in case the landscape beyond it is pink. better the buildings are pink she thinks. tinged with fear. she hopes she is in a city. as barren as a kitchen. she can cope within a pink city/ it has no life of its own.
midnight pink when she first handles the pot. it feels hard & cool like the room itself. it does her no damage. if she closes her eyes she can. believe that it's pink. too tired to think. she dares not close them. shaking she seeks to take control. she moves back away from the table. she shakes her eyes at the pot. she tries to move it way from the colour pink in her mind.
& is disturbed when she fails. she is very tired/ this is to be expected. she grasps the pot. she looks into its depth but becomes scared of drowning. one day she might step into the ocean & breathe the air. but how? tinged with fear. she loves & fears the pot. there will be a solution. she must find a way out of this place while remaining inside.
almost dawn & the room is cold. she drops the pot to the floor & it splinters. too easily. tinged with fear. she crushes it into the pinkness with her boot. she is tired. frightened of drowning. but immediately there is relief. the room is changing. she senses. she follows her natural instincts.
she scratches the shattered glass around the room with her boot. there is nothing to harm her here. in this place there is only pink & herself. she drops to the floor. shaking. she disperses the glass with her palms. until it covers the floor entirely. there is a change of colour & blood on her dress. she is crawling. she remembers being afraid & that is all.
a new light upon the room. she knows she has done a good thing. she is still where she is. but something is different. she is tired. she hopes that she will notice the change. it will let her out for awhile. she is only half afraid now.
the pink walls & ceilings don't frighten her. she is no longer still where she is. there is blood on her knees. she can see the floor on which she is standing. she has done it by herself. she is tired. this is to be expected. perhaps tomorrow she will go to the window.
