A Story That Contains Too Much Detail
[ DIARY LOG 1967 January 1st 6:33 PM]
As my shirtless back lays on the blanket that covers my mattress, I stare at the ceiling. It was filled with miniscule bumps you wouldn’t notice unless you wanted too. A crack about as thin as a single hair, just ever so slightly wider, went from the start of the ceiling on the left-hand side to the middle of the ceiling before abruptly stopping.
I hear something knocking on the door, I get up off my mattress and put my blue wool slippers on, right foot first. I turn back to the mattress and notice my imprint is still there before disappearing a few seconds later. I turn back to the door and start to slowly walk towards it. I feel my shorts rub against my thighs with each step I take before eventually reaching the steel door with only a small window to look through and get food from. When I reached the door a man with a newly ironed blue shirt and piercing light blue eyes stood in front of me, with steel and glass being the only thing between us.
The man starts speaking, his lips moving ever so slightly “It’s time for lunch”. I spoke back without thinking for a sufficient amount of time “I’m not hungry”. He ended up leaving shortly after allowing me to enjoy the rest of my cramped cell.
On the floor 2 cm from the exact center of the room was a mysterious puddle, it smelled like piss. I still haven’t pissed in this room yet. Around my bed was a wrinkled white shirt, now probably having a stain where it touched the unwashed piss floor. Next to the shirt were a pair of black, bland, uninteresting shoes. The bed is extremely messy with a bunched-up blanket and an off-center pillow. I decide that there is no point in staying awake so I put the blanket over my room temperature body, making me hot and uncomfortable because my body is now hotter than the room. I ended up going to sleep three minutes later, and waking up 4 hours 25 minutes 19 seconds later. My neck is extremely wet and I spend 2 minutes rubbing my also extremely wet hand against my neck, not making the situation any better. I am losing interest writing and have nothing to write about anymore so this will be my last diary log.
Author Note: Currently I have lost interest in writing because I have nothing more to write about. This will be my last short story for a LONG time, this short story has no point. I just wanted to see how much detail I could put into something and this feels good enough. Good day
DONE BY: Josh B.