I sit at my desk, writing about nothing, deciding to take a look around my familiar room.

There's a sliding door across from me, which opens out into this tiny little space that doesn't really lead anywhere. Outside the clear, sliding doors are more windows, with the shades pulled all the way down, moving slightly from the breeze that leaks under the window. Light pours through, flooding the small space and halfway into my room. It doesn't reach me, at my desk, where I sit in shadow.

Every spot the light touches seems to glisten and sparkle, clean and fresh. Everywhere else is cluttered, messy, chaotic. Dust is the floor's closest friend, and the smell of mold overtakes my senses as I look around my room, half-lit.

My bed, unmade, is hard and cold, a thin blanket pathetically crumpled to the side, strangled and limp. On top of the bed is a school uniform, the skirt fanned out like a balloon, and the shirt wrinkled somewhere underneath. My pillow has vanished, probably meant to be the next roof of my brothers' feeble attempt at their fort of sheets and chairs.

I turn in my own chair, examining a different part of my square, small room. The open wardrobe, hardly organized, vomits shrunken shirts and pants out at the base, waiting to be picked up and hung. Somewhere buried in the back are the rest of my school's uniform - long sleeves, coats, jackets, stripes, solids, skirts, blouses. All different, all the same.

After another turn to stare at my pitiful bookshelf, my lacking-of-books bookshelf, my eyes have traveled the whole of my square, small room. It's size is taken in by two small turns of a chair, with hardly any effort on my part.

A tiny sigh escapes my lips, not really knowing where it started from, or where it's headed. Today is a sighing day, a thoughtful day, a reflecting day, a self-pitying day. A what-if day, an if-only day. A lonely, quiet, uneventful day. A wasteful day.

A cloud has partially covered the sun. My room is in total shadow, now, not even bothered by artificial light, an artificial brightness.

I sit at my desk, writing about nothing.