Thursday, January 27, 2011

Steinbeck Opening Revised

The room is place of comfort, pain, happiness, and sadness.  The days silently go by and the inhabitants never notice.  For, it is dark, because the shades are always closed.  There is not even a light; the only light comes in slivers through the cracks between the wall and the shades.  The place is cluttered and chaotic.  There are papers, clothes, CD’s and even sheet music laying all in the confinement of this, this prison.  The world outside is rarely seen and when it is, it is a dark star-less night.  The moons rays light the whole room in an eerie pale light as a person walks in.  He is small, almost scrawny, but he is also composed in a way that cannot be described.  He sits down on the bed, which is as messy as the room.  He just sits and stares at the ceiling as he listens to his music.

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