Sitting Cross Legged in my Happy Place

Picture this…a cold, dark room. The only light in it is the four candles that bless every corner. The room is small, but big enough for me. A pile of manila folders that goes up to your ankles rests in a cluttered corner. They’re files of famous serial killers throughout history. From Elizabeth Bathory to Jack the Ripper. 1

There’s a bookshelf, a lot of famous author’s works rest on it. Stephen King, Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, John Steinbeck, Charles Dickens. Many classics. They’re covers are years old and tattered from age. Just by that shelf is a stand with many half-full notebooks on it, all with my curvy handwriting and twisted doodles on it. Stories and poems fill their pages, as well as letters to friends that just never got sent out. 2

Sitting in the center of the room it feels vast and empty, but in reality is smaller than a bathroom and is full of things that only matter to me. Books, notes, c.d.s, pieces of paper with random trains of thought on them that only make sense to me. 3

The television doesn’t work and the stereo is always blasting. It plays Otep's song "Blood Pigs". When I'm here no one can pound on the door and yell at me to turn it down. You can't see anything but the light from the candles and the objects that are closest to it, it is pure darkness. And it brings me happiness. As I sit cross legged in my room, these are the things i see. They bring a small smile to my lips as I sway to the rythm of my music and block out the rest of the world. As I sit cross legged in the center of my room...I am happy.4