Here was safe.

Something short that I wrote.

“My clothes hung about me, all black and grey. The cupboard was surprisingly spacious, even for me. I adjusted my feet and found that the flooring was a little dusty. I made a mental note to clean it sometime. Meanwhile, my eyes adjusted. The dark fell upon my skin softly, like the embrace of a lover. Only a tiny slit of light invaded through the gap between the doors. I regretted not switching the light off. It was too late to do so now. I wouldn’t be able to bear being outside. I might fall and be paralyzed on the way to the switch, or break into tears. No, here was good. Here was safe. Here the world didn’t touch me, and I didn’t touch the world. There was only the darkness, my clothes, and me.

Suddenly, my ears noticed my fast breathing. Somehow no matter how much air I gulped I still felt short, as if the air flowed through my throat and disappeared through a hole in the back of my neck. I took a deep breath, and felt marginally better – although my lungs still felt empty. I wondered how long I coud stay here. Maybe I would sleep here. Maybe I could survive simply on gulping air and drinking in the infinite darkness, and remain here forever, till I fade into the blackness. But there was the problem of the light. As long as it kept shining I will never be at ease. I needed to switch it off. Bright and piercing, it called to me. Mocked me. Challenged me. But no. Here was good. Here was safe. Here I felt ready to cry and to bleed.”