Writing 101, Day Two: A Room with a View (Or Just a View)

Prompt:

We’re all drawn to certain places. If you had the power to get somewhere — anywhere — where would you go right now? For your twist, focus on building a setting description.

The View:

Vertigo. Nausea. Brink. Teetering.

The windows were crystal like, gem like. It almost felt like it was possible to press your fingers out of the barrier, to feel the wind and the cold air. Such a stupid fear, and impossible fear. Inanimate objects couldn’t push you out of a closed window…You know that. Nothing could be around that spot. You couldn’t stand the feeling of them around you, looming, touching. You can feel the rough, dry, “carpet” under you. It felt good, the rough feeling on the bottoms of your feet. The view was vast. Buildings stand far away like brothers, tall and scraping the sky. It almost seemed gloomy at night, the glow from lights on inside. The city glowing down below that point like a sky on the ground.

It was almost beautiful

Wave after wave. The ground, goes first, then the walls. It’s hard to grab onto a spot to keep yourself up, because you have to keep the furniture away. Your legs try to find a spot on the wall to hold you up; it doesn’t know that isn’t the ground. And you’re pressed up against that glass now, the hazy circles of your breath fogging up the glass. They get bigger, the harder it is to breathe and more terrified you get. And dear God you’re looking down. Ant people are walking so slowly across the roads, that seem like veins. You want to press against the glass to pull yourself up, but there is no glass there. You’re mind is telling you how afraid you feel. You can’t tough that glass. You’re going to fall, slip through the barrier. You have nowhere to stand, you’re falling.

And you cry, and pant, and slump down. Your skin streaks loudly against the glass. Then your face is against the “carpet.” And you’ve found the ground, maybe. Maybe you’ll slide down the “carpet” and find your feet on the yellowish wall, like you thought…or maybe you’ll slide back onto the glass, the world across, now down.

You’d scream for help, but they can’t help you. You can cry though. That makes you feel better. Your tears are being soaked up as you watch the little cute anklets of chairs and tables, and potted plants around the room. You’re reaching out to grab hold of something again, but you know you won’t touch anything. You’re waiting for it to pass, maybe if you close your eyes….then there is darkness, but you can outline that room in your red eyelids.

The white door leading into the studio. The elegant soft yellow with a hint of wood on the furniture, chairs and sofas. The steps just in front of the door, and to the kitchen. Then these huge wall sized windows, glaring out to the city. You’re stomach hurts. You should stop thinking. It’s not working. It’s getting farther and farther down. You’re hanging from the side of the building by your pant legs, half of you slinky-d slowly down until your head touches the ground. You open your eyes and you see the “carpet.” This is the ground you can tell yourself. This is the ground. You try to believe.

You’re stomach knows better, spinning around and somersaulting. It knows there is no ground.

 

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