The gorgeous and talented Madeleine is hosting the Through the Keyhole Blogfest until the 11th December. Here is what you need to do, in her words:
"Describe someone's living space in no more than 500 words so that we can vividly imagine the absent person. Then guess from the descriptions posted the type of person who might live in a room like this.It could be a policeman, assylum seeker, a housewife, an author, a foster child, a Vicar who likes DIY, an axe murder (!) anyone you like, really, but not anyone famous."
Visit her blog for full rules and linkey.
Here is my entry, which I have to admit was not written specifically for this blogfest. But I really wanted to take part and I'm hoping it will qualify:
The pod was exactly as I had left it – the lighting set to the dimmest level to appease my migraines and the ambient temperature set to exactly 16.5 degrees Celsius. The faint hum of the air-conditioning unit brought the only natural element from the outside world and the opaque windows to the rear and front offered a hazy glimpse of the setting Sun.
The remains of my last meal – a re-hydrated vegetable stew – sat on the table in the pods small food allocation and disposal area. Beside the meal was a paperback copy of Jasper Fforde’s Lost in a Good Book, the only possession I was allowed to keep after my arrival. Paperback books were obsolete; no printed materials of any kind existed. The interrogation officers had been amused by my attachment to the book and against the rules, allowed me to keep it. I wished I’d brought more than one but then the trip was only supposed to last a week, not forever. Besides, where would I put them? There were no shelves of any kind and the pod’s sterile, white walls, performed their role efficiently – why hang pictures or display ornaments when none existed?
I glanced up at the neon time display, which blinked a constant reminder of the pod’s main function; connecting to the central hub. It was only 1800 hours and I was not required to login in until 0600. Had they left me with twelve torturous hours as a test? Where they willing me to fail again? I sat down at the desk that ran the entire length of the pod’s right side and did the last thing they would expect – I logged in early. The pain from the migraine would almost kill me but I didn’t care. “Conform and stay alive,” had been her last words and I intended to follow them.
I will let you know who it is next Sunday.