My room is white. My room is white. My room is clean and organized and everything is in its place because last time everything wasn’t in place, my life basically ended. You see, the last time my room was a mess the world ended. For me at least. From my window sill you can see the bay bridge, could see. My mom came in to wake me up for pancakes but when she saw the mess in my room, she just yelled. My room was creative, like my mind, and I had endless adventures piled around my room. I had a racecar track stacked on my windowsill, up to the top and it looped around my bed and under my dresser. When she threw open my door she knocked down that racetrack. All the way to the window sill. I remember running over to my racetrack, broken into pieces, when all of the sudden my house started shaking. From those glassy panes I could see that bridge. The same bridge that I crossed every day to get to school was billowing smoke. Cars were honking, and people were screaming. The bridge that woke me up every morning, and coaxed me to sleep every night was gone. After that, I didn’t go to school for a long time. I couldn’t sleep, and my mom wouldn’t let me watch TV or get on the computer. My bridge was gone; my racetrack crumpled the only complete constant in my life. *knocking at the door* Fuck, “coming”. “Jeffery, it’s time for your meds. Jeffery, it’s Dr. Nancy here, time for your meds now. Come along Jeffery”
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