The Trunk

Sitting on the bed I can see out of the window. The silence seems misplaced as the cars slush slowly through the snow. I hate double glazing, it confuses me, I can’t hear. I quickly turn and scan my room. The oak is undisturbed, it doesn’t move. The white reflects all around, shining in through the window and merging with the white in here. I like the glossy floor. If I look down at the floor I can see the shadow’s, that’s how I know I live.

I’m waiting quietly hoping sleep will come soon. The soft of the sheets feel cool and clean and rub my chin as I pull them tight around myself. I curve my spine and push against him but he is solid and heavy and like the great oak, he doesn’t move.

This must be a nightmare, a bad dream and surely I will awaken soon, please. I look once more at the massive oak wishing it would swing towards me now. I want it to end but even that seems a futile thought. I aren’t sure I can carry on pretending not to feel.

He’s stirring now and this lightens my heart. Getting up and moving around the bed so that I stand before him, my head grows dizzy. His eyes flicker open and he struggles to blink away the sleep. I look down once more to check my shadow and I know that I’m there. I’m in the room with him and for a moment my heart swells. As he manoeuvres his legs around and plants his feet on the floor I understand the familiar look of indifference that infects his face. I’ve lost him for good this time, I’m sure of that.

Still, it’s happened before and I’ve survived. Looking over at him, sat on the edge of the bed, giddily swaying, I feel bereft. He was once so confident and clever. Memories of those times seep into my thoughts. I remember the numerous debates we’ve shared, the secrets we’ve uncovered. Goodbye to all those times now, I think Ill leave him alone, let his imagination go. He won’t stop me I’m sure.

I walk over to the window and push up the sash. One last glance back just as the massive oak heaves. I hop quickly onto the ledge straightening up tall. I know what the cold should feel like but I can’t feel at all. I turn around to face him through the window and one last look confirms it. He smiles in my direction for a moment as he realises that he is about to be released. The oak sways further still and a woman pushes a silver trolley through the gap where the oak had stood.

He holds out his arm willingly and accepts the sickly liquid being shot into himself, into myself. As I hover in front of the window, swaying in the slipstream, I realise that I have no reflection after all. Through the glass I see only him and I let go. He sees me no more. Flinging my head back just as I hear the clunk of the oak closing.

He’ll leave here safe now but I know I’ll be back. It’s my room you see and I love that oak. There will be someone else waiting to see me, wanting to believe in me. Often thought to be mad when they catch me in their dreams, they will lead me back here to room 1, ward 3 of The Harplands mental health hospital, to my oak.

As long ago I ran with the breeze, I felt the thunder rip through the trees. It’s kept me here since as it once pinned me to the forrest floor, that giant oak now in the doorway, THE TRUNK, that is a tree no more.