STASIS

prose piece

When the question was asked, I said I didn't care.

I stood there, motionless. Or tried to be as motionless as possible. But I wasn't emotionless. I wasn't emotional, either. It was somewhere in between those two extremes, if you will.

The room was half-lit and smelly. I couldn't make out what it was. It could have been anything. But it wasn't me. I had soaped up an hour before, just for this moment.

The question was asked again. I repeated my answer. It wasn't accepted. I was told so. I was informed that my answer was not acceptable, and thus I myself was unacceptable. I had been told that many times before, but this time it really struck.

I sat in the only chair in the room, then returned to my former motionless, semi-emotional state.

The situation remained this way for what seemed hours. Maybe it was hours-long. I had no way of knowing. I don't wear a watch, and the room was clock-less.

So, I said after I couldn't remain motionless any longer. I moved my mouth in speech. Where do we go from here?

And that had been my worst mistake.