Description of My Room
The wooden floor is pale, yet full of texture. It is
partially covered by a Berber rug which is in need of a
stretching. In an array of gloss and semi-gloss, shades of
off-white cover the four walls and their baseboards
speckled only by an occasional paint chip or faded
fingerprint. Entire sections are hidden by nearly a dozen
posters of varying sizes and content, mostly expressing
political ideas, or taste in music. Shelves protrude from a
wall adjacent to the door-- topped by a number of
knickknacks and decorative accessories. Yet nothing
obscures the whiteness of these walls quite as
magnificently as the furnishings which fill the room.
Standing at the doorway looking inward, I see the twin-size
bed directly across from me against the far wall. Its
sheets and blankets are ruffled and in dire need of being
straightened. Two pillows rest at opposite ends-- covered
by cases made of turquoise cloth. This color forms a
pleasant contrast with the darker blues of the bedspread.
At one corner I see my sheet struggling to maintain its
grip on a mattress-- a salmon-colored item that doesn't
seem to match anything at all.
The dresser is tall and quite old-- probably a
'hand-me-down' from one of my older siblings who has since
left home for college or some other endeavor. It stands
across from the foot of my bed and perhaps four more feet
to its left. Its brown wooden finish appears to be
randomly-stained with an assortment of dusts and the syrup
of sodas left upon its surface over the years. A similar
piece -- a stand -- sits idly against a wall opposite the
foot of my bed. Upon it rests a 13" black-and-white
television screen with dotted speaker holes carved out of
its front. Oddly, three video cassettes sit next to the
television-- but there is no video cassette player in sight.
In my room there is no stereo, nor radio, yet a sound of
content silence fills my space.. I hear the whistle of a
dishwasher nearby in the kitchen and the cyclical whirring
of an air conditioner somewhere behind the expanse of walls
that surrounds me. Occasionally, the crackle of laughter or
the murmur of conversation will reach me from another room.
As I inhale, I can smell the fleeting aroma of potpourri
sprays-- their specific fragrance unknown. In my bed, I
smell the toasty warmth of newly-dried sheets and by my
television, my nose can sense the odor of electronic dust.
The scent of vegetables cooking seems to be floating into
my room, filling my sense of smell and arousing my taste
buds as well. As the scent of a meal grows stronger, I
become more and more distracted by ideas of what might be
in the kitchen. This urge to explore another room in the
house motivates me to put down my leaky ball-point, to
rise, and to consider the other incredible experiences that
await my senses.
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