The Goth Coulrophobic - 85%
The bedroom, which was now currently occupied by a twenty-something male, had originally been covered in bright, clown-themed wallpaper. The walls matched the floors, which were also carpeted with a farceur-motif. On the first time the current owner of the room had entered his new, brightly-lit sleeping quarters, he had been terrified. A Coulrophobic at heart, he had made it his mission to make the room into his own. The decorative wallpaper had been drowned in a dark, dark paint of noir. The door, made of solid brown wood, was also turned black. The open, unshielded window was now covered with drapes, the shade of oil, preventing any sunlight from entering his domain. The carpets had been removed, and had been callously thrown into the nearest trash dumpster. New rugs of a much gloomier tone had been purchased, and laid on top of the hardwood floor. The room, without any furniture, was a perfect cube of pure blackness.
A simple bed, borrowed from his brother, had been inserted into one of the corners. The mattress was of the thin variety. A small nightstand was placed adjacent to the bed. A build-it-yourself desk from IKEA was dragged, box and all, from the elevator, and quickly assembled. A small, uncomfortable-looking chair sat next to this wooden piece of equipment. His dark-clad computer, along with assorted floppy disks, compact disks, and other computer techno-junk were piled on top of and around the desk. Several musical CDs, such as Korn’s “Follow the Leader”, “The Untouchables”, and Nine Inch Nail’s “The Fragile”, “The Downward Spiral”, and “Pretty Hate Machine” also occupied the desk. Amongst all this clutter lay half-eaten cookies, half-used batteries, and several expired slices of cheese, still hidden within their wrappers. The floor around the desk was surrounded by empty cans of Coke, discarded water bottles that hadn’t bothered finding their way to the garbage can, and a crushed box of Kleenex.
If one were to walk three feet from the door into the room, they would notice an odd patch of white that covered part of the floor. An accident with an overflowing candle. This was not the only odd thing in the room. A dagger that looked like it could be used in some sort of paganistic ritual sat on top of the dresser next the bed. The handle was serrated, and the blade was about seven inches long. The owner of the room slept on his back, knife in hand, with the blade pointed towards his toes, in case his room were ever to be intruded while he slept. But with two different kinds of locks on the door, that was very unlikely. One might also find the desk lamp odd, for it contained a red light bulb, normally used in cages for snakes or other reptilians.
Discarded clothes lay in piles against the perimeter of one of the walls. A shoeless shoebox under his bed was filled to the cop with lighters of many different colors, varieties, and sizes. A single, inappropriate magazine sat underneath this box. His current pack of cigarettes hung half way out of his camouflage jacket, which hung messily from back of his computer chair. Thirty or so receipts from the LCBO, No Frilles, and The Dollar Zone garnished a small section of the wall.
He was a ‘bachelor for life’, and he lived the way he wanted to live. He kept his space as messy and disorganized as it needed to be, and he enjoyed his dark, dank pit of a bedroom.
everybody fears something.. only a nobody can fear nothing..