Alone

Scene: A messy room, clothing sprawled across the floors and nearby furniture, adorning desks with faded denim with ripped knees and tees marked with shiny acrylic messages. The walls are painted pink, and the curtains are spotted green and blue and flow freely across the room from the wind blowing through the open window. In the midst of the clutter spread across the white carpet, gray in the dim light, is a bed. A small twin with a canopy covering the stainless white ceiling is ruffled with pink and blue at the tips. The room is spacious and well-decorated, clearly the work of a little girl.
The room is empty.
Scene: The television sends light across the soft suede sofa. The sound from the speakers is simple and carefree. The window is opened a crack and the sound of the city is heard from below. Trucks rattle over the streets, heavy and overbearing, and cars honk angrily at each other in impatience. Streetlamps below cast an otherworldly haze about the streets. A girl sits beside the window, ignores the commercial television laughter floating through the apartment, and watches the cars pass below. Headlights come and go, and she follows them with her eyes. Not one set of lights turns into the parking lot below. The silence in the apartment announces itself; I’m Empty.
The clock on the wall chimes eleven.
The calendar on beside it marks a Tuesday.