-untitled-

Every once in a while my creative juices flow long enough for me to get inspired to try writing. I've always wanted to write and publish a book, but I can never seem to commit to a story long enough to make a novel out of it and a friend once told me that was okay, just write and you can make a compilation of short stories.
So here's a little something I've been working on, not ALOT of thought has been put into this yet and it's still in it beginnings so here's what i have so far... and bee-tee-dub it doesn't have a name yet.

I awake again in this stark white room. It's a modest little room, with a bed, dressed in simple white sheets and crowned with a clean white pillow. My room also has a small porcelain sink where I might keep things like my toothbrush, maybe even a comb or a bar of soap. But instead, the faucets are simply accompanied by a stoutly spout and its constant drip. There's a toilet too, also made of porcelain, tucked in a corner, and like any other room, there is a door.
A door on what I believe to be the North-Western-most of my four walls. A door allowing orderlies entrance and departure as they see fit. The orderlies wear starchy white uniforms, or 'scrubs' as they call them. Never a stain on those perfect uniforms. I once witnessed two burly orderlies restrain a patient as he threw a tantrum over a shower of spaghetti and meat-sauce. Once 'calmed', the two men stormed from the room only to return moments later ordained with crisp white clothing.
Needless to say, this place never changed; the walls always stayed just as white, my gown and the workers' uniforms remained always as bleached, same as my sheets and pillow.
Yet there is always the possibility for irregularity. For example, that leaky faucet, I used that steady drip to calm myself down. If ever my inner turmoil was so much that I could not hear the steady dripping, I would know that I was simply overstimulating myself. As for that white bed? It has a squeaky appendage; I'm not quite sure what part of its construction makes the sound, but I welcome it nonetheless. Also, that toilet tucked away in the corner. Whenever I use it to pee, I allot the yellow to simmer, adding some color to my room, my own personal touch; until I'm told to flush it away.
And finally, there is my window. It is the tiniest of openings in the door situated a little below eye level. Through it I can see anything between the adjacent white wall of the hallway beyond and the white vinyl-tiled floor. Some days, if I'm lucky, and not too busy squeaking the bed or admiring the newest shade of yellow I've added to the room, I'm blessed to see orderlies buzz by.
Until one day, I saw it...