%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  a fun journal for breaking through writers block |
| 09-07-12 @ 10:11 pm EDT If you imagined someone imprisoned in isolation with no hope except to spend their sentence as best as they could, how would your person react, would they adapt? Anzylna There were no mirrored surfaces where Anzylna paced in quick, energetic steps circling the sparsely, furnished room. The room was twenty-seven steps in circumference, plus a couple steps taken up by a cot, a stool, a chamber pot and a wash basin placed against the wall opposite the locked door. So, possibly thirty steps in circumference, if there had been no obstacles. In truth, the room was rectangular; seven steps wide and ten steps deep. If her steps averaged eighteen inches, then the room's circumference was between fourty and forty-five feet or approximately ten-and-a-half feet by fifteen feet or one hundred-fifty-seven-and-a-half feet squared. It didn't really matter, Anzylna didn't count her steps; she just paced them. She had stopped counting them a long time ago. She paced until she grew tired, or until a meal was pushed through the metal door flap, or when she had to relieve herself, or when she pushed her chamber pot through the open metal door flap, or when the lights blinked off and pitch blackness prevented her from pacing. She had stopped counting the meals and the periods between black and light. No longer was she tormented by the passage of time. Calculations of distance and time were not important. In fact, she paced and thought nothing at all; only, step, step, step, in a circle, following a dark stain on the cool concrete floor left by the oils and shed skin of her bare feet and the dust that settled from the air over the years of pacing and not thinking. Then one day, shortly after she had pushed out her chamber pot and retrieved a clean empty one; at the time that she expected her first meal to be pushed into the room; instead, a plastic two gallon jug of water, a wash cloth, a towel, a small wrapped in yellow-waxed paper bar of soap and a comb were pushed into the room. Anzylna stood and stared at this aberration before her. She cocked her head then squatted before these unusual things. Recognition took a long time to trigger what was expected so that she would get her meal. Eventually, Anzylna stood and removed the soiled shirt and shorts and under-garments; folded them neatly into a pile; dragged the water jug to the center of the room where there was a small drain hole; took up the stool and wash basin and placed the stool over the drain hole and struggled to pour some of the water into the basin, only splashing a little onto the floor. When she had the basin half full, Anzylna placed the basin onto the stool, dropped the wash cloth into the cold water and unwrapped the bar of soap. She brought the dry brown wafer to her nose and inhaled antiseptic, then dropped the soap into the water. Before washing, she stripped the cot mattress of pillow and case, sheet and wool blanket; folded the gray stained pillow case, tattered grey sheet, and blanket, stacking them from largest to smallest next to her stacked clothing with the pillow between sheet and case on the stack. Then Anzylna bathed from top to bottom, saving her hair for last. She combed her hair before washing it, dilligently taking out all the tangles. Once her hair was ready, she bent over double and stuck the top of her head into the cold clear water she'd poured into the basin. With her hands, she cupped water over the back of her neck until all her hair was well soaked. She lifted slightly, found the remaining wafer of brown antiseptic soap and lathered her hair until the bar had completely disolved. She worked the soap through her hair still bent over, scrubbed her scalp with her fingertips until both scalp and fingers were sore, then she lowered her head and performed the first rinse. Again, she dumped the soiled, soapy, scum water into the drain and refilled the basin with clear cold water. And again, she bent over and rinsed her hair. She did this two more times until there was no more water and until her hair squeeked. After she emptied the basin, she took the towel and wrapped her head in a loose turban. She wrung out the wash cloth and folded it; dried her hair then folded the towel making a third pile, placing the empty water jug on top of the folded towel and washcloth. She placed the wash basin back against the wall near her cot then sat on the stool still over the drain in the floor and combed her hair; diligently combing out all the tangles. When the tangles were smoothed, Anzylna placed the stool in its place against the wall and stood with her back to the light facing her shadow. Looking at the shadow of her head on the wall, she combed her hair and made four divisions which she braided turning from side to side to see where each shadowed division was. When she was finished she swiveled from side to side to see if there were any stray strands. Anzylna had taken her time and performed each step meticulously, ritually, reverently. When she was done, she pushed all three piles through the metal flap of the door and waited for clean bedding, clothing and a meal. The first pile into the room was the bedding; Anzylna made her bed. Then the clothing; Anzylna dressed. Then a comb and a brush were pushed into the room taped together with a yellow piece of tape. Anzylna hesitated only a moment then picked them up removed the tape and placed the gifts onto the stool by the wall at the foot of her bed. She pushed the wadded tape out through the metal door flap. Minutes later her first meal of the day slid into the room. As was her practice at each meal, Anzylna removed her shirt and shorts folded them and placed them on her bed; then she ate. She had learned that clothing wasn't changed very often; she wasn't sure of the length of time between baths, but it was a long interval. She prevented undo soiling of her clothing while eating by removing her clothing. Anzylna pushed the emptied plastic plate and plastic spoon and plastic cup through the metal door flap. She redressed and she paced in a twenty-seven step circle. She paused in her pacing to use the chamber pot, then she continued to pace until the second meal was pushed into her room, at which time she stopped only long enough to eat. She paced until the third and last meal pushed into her room. After, pushing the emptied utensils through the door flap, Anzylna began a new routine. She placed the stool a step away from the wall, sat with her back to the light, unbraided her hair watching her shadow as she did so and brushed her silky hair until the two-minute warning flickered that the dark period was about to begin. She readied for bed removing and folding her clothing--she always slept in the nude--and crawled between crisp, fresh smelling bed sheets. She rolled onto her side and faced the concrete wall away from the fisheyed-lensed camera and smiled. This was a good day; a wonderous day; a day to be treasured. Life smelled fresh and good and clean. The lights blinked off and pitch blackness engulfed Anzylna. 1,235 words Take care and may your road lead to only good places. Deb Compassion and the effort to try and understand some thing that was not understood before is a step toward acceptance not only of others but most importantly of yourself.   ~~Image #6000 Sharing Restricted~~ ![Merit Badge in Fantasy
[Click For More Info]
Member of the Month - September 2008
[Link To Item #1340208]
Congratulations! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Fantasy-600.gif) Murphy's law regarding Plot: Every Plot Starts to Go Wrong Just After the First Big Scene. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
