The Room In The Asylum

The room is plain, that's an understatement; pale cream walls and bare floorboards, worn smooth by a thousand footsteps. A single bed is in the corner, neatly made with biege sheets. A desk stands opposite it, upon which sits a cup filled with pencils and biros, a stack of paper aligned perfectly to the corner, and a notebook. A small wooden chair is tucked under it. Above the desk, a shelf holds a dozen books, spines facing outwards, all lined up like soldieres with no one to fight. A laptop lies at the other end, wires carefully rolled up and sitting beside it. A bottle of water and a box of graham crackers are the only other items on the shelf. Not a single picture or poster adorns the walls. In fact, they are completely free from decoration of any kind. Everything with its purpose. Everything with its place.

This is the place that entropy goes to die.