Young Writers Society

Three thousand and seventy-two miles east of the zoo, something else was happening altogether.

"I know you're in there," the dim voice muttered, "what have you got to fear?"

More than you'd think.

The soundless room was dimmer than the voice and three times as loud. It had infinite possibilities of getaway. Crawl out the window, break down the walls, fall asleep, hypnotize yourself into believing you've escaped, open the already unlocked back door and run off into the grass beyond…

There was a foolish young creature in the room. She sat in the midst of the gloom and did as much as a desktop lamp owned by an insomniac writer does during the night.

Ellis was breathing! Maintaining a heartbeat! Existing! And exerting all mental effort toward an important task: ignoring.

Dawnlight crawled through the window, a lonely pastel wash, trying to say something important. A messenger. It breathed over the room in its warm, rueful watercolor voice and was too quiet to be audible.

Beauty did absolutely nothing to help the mood.

You see, Ellis needed to be found even though her whereabouts were perfectly known.

"Come out already! How hard could it be?" was the dim voice, still dim but somewhat louder. "Nothing bad's gonna happen to you. I just havta ask you a question." It was a man's voice, not too deep and not too high - but not just right, either.

There was silence again.

"Please? I promise, it won't hurt at all. Words can't hurt you, especially not the decent ones."

Ellis frowned, but no one saw her anyway.

"Why are you so scared?"

Crickets chirped.

"Open the door, girl! I'm not an ax-murderer!"

"I – I can't." That was what she wanted to say, stutter and all, but it remained a thought.

"I guess I'll have to use other means. You can gasp all you'd like."

So the guy left for a few minutes. Ellis breathed a little louder now. Why hadn't she moved, why hadn't she opened that back door and run off? It would be so simple. He'd never know of her absence; in fact, he probably didn't know for sure that she was there in the first place, thanks to her personal mute-button. Uncertainty. It was everywhere. It dullened the air, a lethal, dizzying vapor.

Just as Ellis was about to twist the doorknob that would have led to her escape, he came back. Keys clinked metal-on-metal till the right one was found. The exclusive sound of an opening lock was accompanied by him swinging open the…

door.

Was she there? His name was Jim and he was the janitor. The management told him a little girl was locked inside one of the hotel rooms by mistake, and his job was to rescue her. Now I get to be a hero, he thought. They never notice the janitor.

Jim really did have a question for the 8-year-old. The problem was, he wasn't very good with words. And he did sound kind of like an ax-murderer, although he certainly didn't mean to.

"How'd you get locked in here?" he wanted to say. "Why were you trapped in here for four days before they found out about you, and why'm I the only one who regards this as more than a janitorial task?"

Well, the first question was really the only one he meant to ask her, but he said all of them anyway now. Jim's words trailed as he realized that the back door was open.

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"What's happening?!" you seethe. "How in the world can all these confusing and pointless bits of nothing have anything to do with each other whatsoever? I don't get it!"

I sympathize with you only because I would be doing the same thing at this point if I were you. I apologize for the muddy water, so to speak, but I don't have a filter with me right now, so you'll have to wallow through the unpurified junk and hope for the best. I will not stop making a metaphor out of everything. Don't throw this at anybody (violence is not the answer), especially if it's on a screen. Just imagine it if it makes you feel any better. You have every right to stop reading. Go ahead. My feelings won't be hurt.

There is no such thing as an end.