You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear…describe what’s in the room.

WordPress does this daily prompts writing thing. Usually it comes in my email and I glance at it and forget it, just like I do with the ones that say “You are overdue for your gynecological checkup” or “It’s time for your oil change!” But this one was different. This one struck me and made me think, so here goes, it’s super cheery.

You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.


A thick, dense, black industrial-grade plastic bag is slammed over me and cinched tightly. Kidnapped, hijacked.

Dragged away, terror, fighting to get out, disoriented and panic-stricken. It is full of swirling, overwhelmingly heavy feelings. The air is sour and burns like pepper spray. I kick and scream and tear at the bag. Finally I am still. I rip it away, and I am tripping over things. The clanking glass tells me that it must be bottles, empty bottles, everywhere.

Tripping, stumbling, I can’t find uncluttered ground. It is fucking black in here, so black, and cold and clammy. I reach out for a light switch, but there are no walls, just a void. I’m sad, so sad I am shaking. I am naked and cold and exposed. I want to get out but there is no door, just endless clanking of glass and unsteady footsteps in an abyss as thick and dark as motor oil.

I squint and strain and will my eyes to make out any shape. I cannot. I can’t breathe. Feelings, all of them brush against me, push at me, smother me like powdery black ghosts.


There is no seeing, only feeling.

I struggle to make sense of it, to find a way out. I scream, and an unseen monster slides down my throat. It tastes like metal and it is in me.

Pure hot panic consumes me, I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating. I fall to the ground, and am covered by a sandy mass. It’s weight holds me down, yet it is comforting in a strange way. Something strokes my hair, and I feel myself being lifted. It feels as if I am moving underwater, everything is muffled and slow.

I feel the bottles lazily floating around, and the darkness goes right through me. I am now part of it. No longer flesh and bone, just weight and energy. I surrender to it and sink down to the bottom.

I feel something in the bottom, my mass returns and my fingers grab at it and pull. Very suddenly I am swirling, rising, as if magnetized to an unbeknownst host. I am gasping, sputtering for air. I am heavy again, on the ground, everything has been drained, and there is only light, sweet, warm light.


and the fear is…..?

38 replies

  1. This reminds me of the time when I was 17 (active addiction) and DID get kidnapped. No trash bag though. But we did fight and he back-handed me and my braces went through my lips, so there was blood all over me… 3 days later he had to go somewhere and made the mistake of driving near my bff’s house. She wasn’t an addict and was trying to love me through my addiction, but didn’t really know how, so she was living her normal life. I jumped out of the moving car and ran for her house, like my life depended on it, all I could see was her front door. It was like I had tunnel vision.
    I reached the door, ran in, covered in dried blood, hair all matted with it, lips out to there with scabs on them. I slammed her door, threw the dead bolt and said, as I turned around “He can’t get me! I got away! He can’t get me!”
    And then faced a living room full of women. She was having a fucking Tupperware party.

    • Holy. Shit.

      I feel really un-awesome that I brought all of that back to you. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Sorry sounds so trite in this situation, doesn’t it? But sorry in the kind of way that makes my soul ache and eyes water and at the same time want to hug you and high five you for being such a fucking survivor in so many respects. I’m glad there was a happy ending, involving tupperware.
      Nothing but love for you girl.

  2. Girl please. I knocked that mother fucker OUT, grand slam, tweetie birds around his fat fucking head, that’s what the fuck I’m talking about, swinging for the bleachers with that pan, OUT the next time he came near me. No worries. It was just so horrifically funny. How many other people have been the victim of the scourge known as Tupperware?!!! lol

    • You know, I was watching Woody Allen’s Crimes & Misdemeanors last week, and there’s a scene where Alan Alda is describing the formula for comedy. It is Tragedy + Time. Never has anything truer been said.

  3. Is the fear when you black out from being super intoxicated?

    Anyway, my first answer to this when I just saw the title of your post was “a room without cake”. But after reading your actual post, holy shit. That ain’t my answer anymore.

    I won’t dwell on it here so please don’t ask me but…my father.

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