Colorful Lies

A bird stares at me. Its black eyes blink at me, and I blink back. I ignore the note that has just been slid under the door, the taunts that are flung at me in the form of paper and ink. This is how I’ll rebel, I think. I won’t eat the food, read the notes, or acknowledge the fact that I’m slowly killing myself.

I just sit.

And watch.

Unfortunately, this allows me to think of my situation. Of my hopeless attempts to leave. The first day I was awake, I had kicked the locked emerald door and screamed and demanded to speak to whoever had brought me here. I was greeted with silence. Sweet, defiant silence. The empty room mocked me, telling me of my own solitude and wasted efforts. He won’t listen to you, the house seemed to tell me. He never will.

The next day, the bird arrived, sitting on my dresser in a wrought-iron cage. Here, my captor said, take the bird and shut up. The sparrow was an odd shade of blue, as if it had been dyed. A note sealed with wax the color of a summer sky was sitting on top of the cage. Eagerly, I tore the note open, with hopes of what the note may bring cluttering my mind.

The note held no secrets.

Good morning, Miss Bennett. I hope you will try and behave yourself today, since you failed yesterday. Perhaps some company will help keep you calm?

Sincerely,

F

The sparrow had chirped and twittered in its cage, trying to get out. Sympathy urged me to unlock the door. I turned the key that was sitting in the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. The bird was trapped in a cage with no way of opening it. With panic in its eyes, the bird stared at me, urging me to set it free. My hands began to shake and I sunk to the floor. Whoever it was who had taken me is sicker than I thought.

Now, I’ve traded my tantrums for tranquility. The notes continue to be sent. They are propelled under the oddly colored door instead of on top of caged animals, though. For the past three days, I’ve been simply sending them back under the door, the envelope unopened and the words unread.

Food is delivered three times every day, but I never eat it. My stomach stopped begging for food two days ago. Now, there’s simply an odd shaking feeling in my limbs and lightheadedness to my thoughts. I know I’ll die if I continue to refuse the food, but idea of being drugged or poisoned is more terrifying than the idea of starving.

Every night, just before I go to bed, I check the door to make sure that it hasn’t been unlocked without me noticing. I stalk across the floor and try to open the door, but it never budges. The bright green door remains stubborn and immovable. Sighing, I walk back to the bed and crawl under the black and white blanket.

Days pass, and before long I can no longer pry myself off the small bed. My eyes drift open and close, but I hardly ever notice what I’m looking at.
I dream of twittering birds and cages with no doors.

Somewhere between the shores of consciousness and dreaming, I convince my eyes to open and scan the room. Everything looks as it did the day before- that is, unnaturally neat and empty- except for one thing.

The door is open.