Invisible Number (untitled #2)

Sa entered a room he had been in before. In a house where he had visited in the winter.

It was no longer winter. Sa was here again. The wooden door he locked behind. The light he switched off.

The walls looked at him. Sa was much different last time he was here.

Sa was reminded of another house. It was always dark, even during the day. The paint was faded, the floor didn't creak. There was silence. It was entering a different world.

Everything was bigger. He stood upon the tables to peer over the the couch.

Sa was inside a painting. He looked at himself moving and watching, frozen and still, always looking himself in the eyes. Sa was captured in a photographic, violently and graphically.

He returned his gaze to the curtain. Long, maroon and heavy, it emitted light. It wiped away tears, it shaded the world from this room, from the pictures Sa was in, from his eyes seeing the outside.

He was reminded of a pillow, one that didn't fit his neck anymore. One that had hardened, whose cover was ratty and holed. His favorite pillow, it smelled like winter, like snoozing, like an alarm clock, like breakfast. Like stretching and rubbing eyes.

Sa would walk backwards up the stairs in this house when he got scared. He didn't want to leave the front door unseen. There were spectres that followed him whenever his attention made an exit. WHenever he was affected by fear, he couldn't think. He would then walk backwards trusting the dark hallways more than the entranceway.

Sa invented a country upstairs. In this world, when the light turned off, and his head hit the pillow, and his feet tucked under, he entered another world. He would become a prisoner, or a person in the jungle sleeping in the canopy, or he was in a cave, or underwater in a submergeable bedroom. Somewhere else, another planet, another environment.

He existed in these placed. His imagination travelled farther than his body.