The man sat in a dark room.

It was his room. It had always been his room.

So why had these people taken it from him? He hadn’t done anything hurtful to them, had he? It was his precious room, his beloved room. The scene played out like two children were playing on the same playground and one suddenly took the others favorite toy; it was pointless and one party ended up in tears. Well, the man wasn’t the crying party, he made sure of that.

And oh! how rude were they when he tried to take his room back civilly! With all their bats and pistols! These things obviously hurt the man, how could they not see this? He’s human too, you know. Well, never mind that now. He had his room back, that’s all that counts.

The faint sounds of sirens penetrated the pitch black room. The man, who had been swaying to his own soothing song, stopped in a slanted position and cocked his head towards the noise. He knew what those sirens meant: danger. More people that wanted him unhappy. Its ok, he had done this before, he knew what to do.
The man casually stood up, or at least, he tried to. He slipped in a sticky pungent liquid that coated the room. “What a shame, it was such a nice room.” The man thought, sparking new anger into his heart. He powerfully stomped his way to the other corner of the room, like an upset child. He searched the wall for a saber sticking out of the plaster. Wrenching free the long knife, he could hear a dull thud and a shallow splash as something fell off the wall. “Or someone” the man thought to himself, scoffing.

Crouching, the man opened the door to the room. Smoke filled his lungs but other than coughing a little, the man seemed unfazed. He smirked contemptibly as he stepped out of the unsinged box. There was no need to crouch anymore, the flames engulfed most of the house by now, and he hadn’t heard a fire truck siren just yet (and yes, there was a difference). No one would disturb him.

Looking back into the defiled room, the man was reminded of past times, of his first room. He could still see the woman he once labeled ‘mom’, slack jawed, hanging up on the wall, pinned there by large nails that had been hammered in using the same hammer ‘daddy’ used to beat them with continuously. ‘Daddy’ could be seen in his mind’s eye, slumped in the corner of the room in a pool of alcohol and his own fluids, three gashes sliced down his front spilling the rancid stuff that was already crusting over. And just like that night so many years ago, the man slowly closed the door to his once-upon-a-time room.

It was an inky black night and the man had to stand shivering for a little while in the dewy, late night grass of the room-abductors backyard and wait for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, the man was surprised to find that no shaky police officers were waiting for him. Then again, they had no idea what had happened inside yet, for all they knew it was just a house fire.

Taking calm collected steps, he made his way to the back gate. Thick leather gloves found their way onto his grimy hands that proceeded to thrust open the rough gate. It was like he was in a dream that kept repeating itself.

Oregon. Pennsylvania. Ohio. Colorado. Montana. Wisconsin. And now Tallahassee.

He had done this before. The only thing that changed were the locations. His room kept moving and people kept taking it. Well fine, the police could have this one. It was too crimson and sticky and smelly now. The man had made a mess and now it wasn’t his room anymore. He always made a mess, it was silly really. He kept trying to obtain the only thing left of his childhood but he also kept changing his rooms with a bright red that faded fast, turning into a grimy brown and by adding nasty new wall fissures and the like. Not exactly the ideal room color or interior decoration choice, at least not for the man they were.

His room was baby blue with airplanes dotting the walls and teddy bears neatly lining the bed, ready to be slept with at any time. There was a mahogany dresser in one corner and a twin bed tucked in the opposite one. The door was across from the bed and the remaining corner stood empty. That was where he would wait for his mad father to finish his bottle and grab the belt or, depending on how mad or drunk he was, the hammer. It was a mocking little corner, always reminding him of the hate that lurked in his father’s eyes, even after he died.

“NO!” The man yelled in his mind. “I mustn’t think about it. It’s all in the past now. All in the past. He’s gone, he won’t hurt me- us- and everything will be ok again. I- we- just need to get back to my room, that’s all.” This time hissing under his breath and accidentally slicing his thumb open with the end of his dirty blade, causing a thin trickle of blood to fall in line with his gathering sweat. Suckling the thumb the man made his way to an old ratty suburban parked under a flickering street light. He fumbled for some keys that were lost in his second-hand brown tweed jacket.
Before he finally started driving, the man popped open his trunk with a well-rehearsed flick of his thumb. Beginning to relax slightly and smile a bit, he carefully lifted the hood. “We’re almost there, I’m sure of it this time.” He brought the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on them and then carried them down to a rotten forehead laid carefully on the floor board. Transferring the kiss he muttered “don’t worry mother, I’ll make sure no one hurts you ever again. We’ll be safe and sound, reading stories together once again soon enough.”
Then the man sped away into the night, presumably to another state and another room. And so my duty is done. I leave you with the knowledge of this man and the shattered fragments of his spit upon past. I would only hope that you consider him the next time you become angry and upset and, as per our imperfect nature, attempt to hurt another being. Every action has a consequence, every person has a breaking point and there is a dark, empty room waiting for each of us in some version of our lives. So try to keep a light on and don’t let the darkness that inevitably lurks in one’s heart to creep in and infect you or the lives you’re apart of.