IN THIS ROOM
Jai Clare

Under a tree they found me smelling of contradictions and pine needles and glowing in the sun. They took me, bound me in themselves, made me safe. They fed me juniper berries to make me happy and sometimes let me see through the window to the occasional blue sky. I would stare at the sky—the blue fascinated me. As a baby I could always be found looking towards the space where I had last seen the blue emerge like a butterfly from its cocoon. I came from a place of captivity, and that's what they wanted to reproduce for me—a haven outside. They piled boxes on top of boxes, ropes and ties, not dreams but expectations. Little boxes I could move through as if in coma. Everyone creates a box for me to move into, as I create boxes for others. They cleansed me of strange aromas but never could wash away the contradictions as they moulded me a place to live and be whole. They set me up. There I was bound invisibly. Cutting the umbilical cord only bound me tighter to them. What a weak mewling creature they wanted, what a weak mewling creature they designed, but those contradictions were cut too deep. I was created in a higher dream, a greater vision than they ever could see. They were blind.

This room is a box. I sit in it blind to the sky. I want an open room open to the sky, without borders. I want to look upon the sky and again feel hopeful. One day I might touch it. But if I flew, would I find the sky was domed?

© Jai Clare 2004

Jai writes and paints walls in yellow and red. Her short stories have been published on both sides of the Atlantic and she is now working on her third novel.
Website: http://www.jaiclare.co.uk

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