The Booth.
A broken clock hangs on the neatly varnished wall next to me. It's stuck on 8:46. I can't help but feel a sense of security in this place; enclosure. I can hear distant voices and there is a wooden kind of authentic smell in the air. Patterns have become carved into the woodwork on the walls. My eye is drawn to a piece of torn cloth swaying in the breeze from an open window. To me it reflects the emptiness of this place. It shouldn't be here. Numbers and sequences surround me. Everything has it's place. Everything fits. I am the only thing that doesn't.
I am clutter in a clean house. I am a hunter in the rainforest. The distant voices have stopped and all there is is silence. I am alone in this foreign place yet I decide to explore. I take a book from the shelf behind me. A little blue book. It has an inscription on the front that appears to be a shield with wings. I wonder what this can mean? I turn the pages carefully. They are flaky and worn. I put it back, trying not to leave my imprint on this delicate synthetic world. The sense of security I had has now turned into a sense of intrusion. I must leave now. But I will return soon.
