The sun rose in a pool of crimson and gold, radiating its glory through the mackerel clouds. The sunbeams, light, yet tangible, permeated through the amber-tinted windows, inundating the empty room with liquid gold. I indulge myself in the warmth of the sun, letting my yellow skin bathe in this wonderful gift of mother-nature.
Honestly, I do not recall how long I have been staying in this room, nor do I know since when did this colonial mansion, which this room rests on top of, settle itself on this barren land. It seems that I am stuck here, or rather, trapped within the wallpaper that encages this room. I only know that I am living. I see, I hear, but I do not feel. I do speak though, I speak through my skin.
I speak through the wallpaper.
It was the midst of summer, when this couple settled into the house.
The man is a physician of high standing, while the woman his patient, I believe, as I hear from the man that the woman is in a state of nervous depression. Their voices echo through the hallways, slowly increasing in volume. They are coming towards me. With the doors ajar, they enter carrying all sorts of furniture. My repellent skin colour is revealed to them, and they present me with faces of revulsion in return. "You know the place is doing you good," the man said, "and really, dear, I don't care to renovate the house just for a three month's rental." "Then do let us go downstairs," said the woman, "There are such pretty rooms there." But the man would not hear of it and left my chamber, leaving the helpless woman sitting on the bed.
It has been a long time since anyone has come into this...