250 words entry

When you look at my room, who do you see? Objects which sit on the windowsill, the table, the dresser. The bedspread's  texture and colour. Who do you see in the mirror? Who are you today?

Today is April 18^th. I have been locked in this room for eleven days. I cannot step outside. My only connection with the world beyond is through the window which opens by a few inches. In those eleven days, I have sat and stared at nothing. Pigeons landed on the opposite roof and took off into the empty sky.

There is no identity to assign. There is no tale to be told because a person in this particular trade is willing to forego the tale. There is no enjoyment to be had except in the grim reality of the cover. That is what the old, retired hands say.

But here I am in this room, exposed and cornered, waiting for my end. I think there is a limit to how much a person can take. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to save my drowning subconscious which drove me to let my tail show.

I have used the pass eleven days to organize my thoughts. It was not something I relished but the final narrative is now firmly in my mind now. And I will commit it to paper in a way which only you will understand.

spy fiction.