I Sit Alone In A Four-cornered Room Novels & Stories

My legs felt weak, but I forced my body to move across the room and walked out into the hallway, climbing the wooden stairs and every step groaned under my weight. I entered room four and behold it was a small room with gray walls with a single iron bed. I did not undress or pull the thick blanket over my shoulders. I just sat on the edge of the mattress in the dark as the rain hit the glass window with a loud, constant rattle.

My eyes wandered around this 4 walled room that I was in. I bit my lip hard as I hugged my knees to my chest. I actually don’t know where I was. I felt like I was just floating the whole time I was dragged here. I bit my lip and hugged myself tighter. I was just there on my butt, squatting and leaning against the cold walls of an almost empty room. It honestly looked like a prison cell to me. There was just one bed and a bedside table beside it…and nothing more. It was so empty and white, I felt like anytime I’ll just get sick.

Quiet for four years. This is my life now. My days are based on my silence. A choice made a long time ago. Silence is what protects me. Or so I believed. Tonight, it all changes. The ball is in full swing. The music is too loud. The lights are too bright. Then, he arrives. He is standing in the opposite corner of the room. It cannot be. My breathing ceases. He turns his head and looks directly at me.

I started taking it and nothing else happened and I filed it under: managed. Apparently I was wrong about managed. The east corridor is empty when I get back. My room. The door. The nail in the wall catching midmorning light, a different angle than dawn, the shadow it throws longer and thinner. I sit on my cot and look at it. I think about four years.

For the first time, I noticed how quiet it was here. The room was stark and bare, its plain white walls reflecting the dim light from a single bulb hanging above. There was little to see—just a small bed, a toilet, and a fridge tucked into the corner. It felt more like a bunker than a room. Pushing myself off the cold floor, I began searching for another way out. I checked every corner, every crevice, hoping for some clue that would lead me to safety. But there was nothing—just four walls trapping me in this sterile, confined space.

His hand stays limp within mine. In this cold, lonely room. I raise both my eyes, looking around the dull, lifeless place that he had been forced into for quarantine. It’s suffocating, with a single window curtained heavily to shut out any light. Empty cots form an unruly maze, scattered without any kind of order. The scent is thick with herbs.

For six months I renovated the condo where my fiancé and I were supposed to begin our married life. Grant said he was buried in a project. My brother said he was always traveling. My best friend said something had come up at home. Not one of them had time to lend a hand. The night before I moved in, they covered my eyes and told me someone I would never guess had come back to warm the place for me. The door opened, and there was Serena Cole, a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years, wearing my slippers and rushing at me with a smile. “Surprised?” I was. Until she said, offhand, “These past few days I couldn’t have managed without Grant helping me pick a mattress, Owen carrying my bags,

It felt like he had spent an infinite amount of time in this place. He sat in the corner of the chilled room, he could mildly perceive the sharp corners at each edge of the room, the unpainted ancient walls that confined unfortunate souls like himself connecting each corner to form a perfectly shaped square room. It carried the burden of memories of men drawing closer and closer to their death.

Again. The air was colder here, it feels like every room, the colder it gets. Each breath came out in a white puff as if the room itself had been carved from ice. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was intentional. My gaze darted around the small chamber. Bare concrete. No windows. No vents. No cameras—I think. Just one thing in the middle. A red button. It sat embedded in a square metal pedestal like something straight out of a trap movie. Right above it was a yellowed piece of paper, taped unevenly. Jagged handwriting, scrawled in thick red ink.

or someone else! The room was cozy and comfortable, but it was still a lonely place for me. It had a four-poster bed and soft bedside lamps that added a little drama to the room, but I could see Dale's naked body in every nook and cranny. We almost made love in every corner of my bedroom the last time he came to see me...and I missed him so much!