The Whiteroom

The walls pulsated with shedding veins and tendons. Ancient paint falls with every beat dusting the eternal audience frozen in awe. With every inhale the room shook. On exhale the chipped-off marble and particles hurried up through the wide-open arch, cutting up anything on the way out. The perfect stone white presence was complemented by an invading twig of greenery, slowly sprawling in the aging pores. Dead straight in the middle of it all cross-legged sat a man humming an unending tone. As he inhaled the room shook.