By: Elizabeth Kwan

My white room is silent except for the ticking clock. It is all I can concentrate on. It keeps me from thinking.

Thinking—

I am driving in my green Jeep. In the Sahara, I search for elephants. My dead friend, Daph, is sitting next to me. If he were to speak, I wouldn’t comprehend. He holds his binoculars in such a way that I cannot see his face. I cannot tell his face. We enter this area of the desert that’s scorching hot. There are no breathing trees; no breathing mountains.

“Daph, they’re dead! They’re dead! Daph!” I shout, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Daph says nothing and flips on the radio.

The radio has no music. Only ticking clocks. I glance to my left. The desert is raided by melting ticking clocks! A big fog chases our way. I hit the gas pedal, but we cannot go any faster. The car betrays me and drives us off a cliff. Daph silently screams as we are gulfed by the empty void.

I am back in my white room. Did I ever leave? I need to stop dreaming so much.

My white room is silent except for the ticking clock. It’s going faster this time.

Image Credit by Andrey Grushnikov