The room is yellow. The shade of yellow an elder picks for the home because it's warm and inviting. She just thinks it makes the room look faded and an even less desirable place to dwell.
The more she thinks about it she decides yellow is her least favorite color. Her need to leave the room grows substantially and she notices again the complete bareness of the walls. She blinks and a single piece of furniture remains in the room. A small bed adorned with a think blanket and flat pillow, it looks cold, uninviting.
Unwilling to see what disappears next from the room, she turns to face what she had been leaning against, a full glass wall.
Beyond the glass is a garden, a simple garden with sunset orange flowers that have been well tended to and a small willow that casts a corner of the grass into a comfortable shade. A walkway of smooth beach stones leads in a wide circle around the flowers, it makes its way to and beyond a high wooden fence, enclosing the garden like a secret oasis.
From behind the glass she can feel the rays of the sun warming her cheeks. For days it seems she has been trapped in this room, blissfully wishing she could feel the full heat of the sun toast her skin. She envies those stupid, beautiful flowers. She's stared at them for so long that when she closes her eyes she can still see the patch under the tree, just the right size for her to stretch out and relax out of the sun.
She blinks again and her room is thrown into darkness, her lights have gone and the only light she has is the sun shining through the glass. She's not bothered by the loss of the lights. It's inconvenient to be constantly in a shadow, but it's nothing compared to being totally alone. She learned what alone really meant the day her door disappeared.
She had been staring at the garden, debating to herself whether it was worth the effort to go to it or to stay put. The flowers weren't that great, it was probably breezy, everything she could do outside could be done in her room. Only after she had decided that the garden could be overlooked did she notice that the door was gone. She of course banged and yelled and wept for help, but she was as trapped as she had allowed herself to be.
The slow loss of each comfort of the bedroom almost came as no surprise to her anymore.
It was only when the door was taken that the concept of the garden began to consume her. The thought of the being out there had started to become so grand that she could think of nothing to do besides stare at it and agonize over the desire to be a part of it. The flowers became amazing, the sun brighter, the clouds softer.
Every time she re-lived losing the door she cried and as her sadness grew the idea that one day she would be the only thing inhabiting the room scared her. She then stops and wonders what was stopping the glass from going. How long until the one fantastic glimmer of light in her life was snatched away and she would be left with only herself and a yellow wall where her garden once was.
She is terrified.
She cries out, hating the room for imprisoning her, hating everything she had that was gone, hating not leaving when she had the chance and being taunted for it, hating herself. The concept of not having that cold glass feels worse than dying. Never has she felt a greater want to be in that garden. Even for a second, long enough to expose her sense to it all, just to know she had been a part of it. Still crying, she hangs her head and rests it against the glass.
"I've been so blind"
A foreign scent, a cool gust of wind, a birds song. She takes a slow breath and opens her eyes.
A flower, one of the sunset orange flowers is a few inches from her face. Petals in full bloom, leaves open to catch the light, it seems to welcome her. She is in the garden, accompanied by the flowers, near the shade of the tree, surrounded by the fence, finally feeling the full warmth of the sun.
She straightens herself and kneels, treating herself to every angle of the garden she's never been able to see before. Looking at the blue sky she sees the clouds.
They're slightly grey, almost harsh and imposing against the blue.
In fact, she notices the trees leaves have already started to settle on the ground. And some of the flowers are much different than the others, some petals are damaged, leaves are diverse from one another. In the corner some have begun to wither and die.
Suddenly, she feels uncomfortable. The impression of the garden as a place of beauty is gone. She feels withdrawn from the other living things that are in their state of constant flux. The thought of being happy in the garden starts to feel unlikely. She falls onto her back, overwhelmed by the insane loss of control that exists here. Here the tree could change with the seasons. All of the flowers could wilt and die. The sky could open and pelt her with rain and she's be at it's mercy. In her room she was in complete control. Her life changed only as she did. When something was not required, it was taken and everything in that room happened for a reason.
The sun feels smothering and inescapable. She closes her eyes blocking the light, wanting familiarity.
From her bed she peers out the glass. The garden is still beautiful but now the imperfections are blatantly noticeable. She doesn't really feel the need to stare anymore. She blinks and the glass is gone, replaces by the ugly yellow wall.
And she's comforted.