Look

There is a great adventure in every bit of life.


Notice that when someone moves, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a new life enters the world, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a person is murdered, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when there is a new found sum of money, it changes the life of everyone involved.

Notice that when something of value goes missing, it become the most important thing of all.


I wanted something new and exciting, and at first the Foam Cabinet didn't seem to hear my desires. I walk up to the Foam Cabinet, and the Foam Cabinet opens easily enough. Inside I see my reflection. I remember seeing my reflection in the Foam Cabinet a long while ago, but this time it was unaltered and crystal clear. Behind me in the reflection was exactly what was behind me in reality: a couple good friends, a few half-read books, a cat, a disassembled drum set, an old acoustic guitar, a collection of past artwork, empty pens, crumpled papers, gum wrappers, and that ever-looming Xbox.

My discontent sparked at the dull familiarity of these objects, and I closed the Foam Cabinet.















A few hours go by.















I feel the urge to do things.

















I feel like playing Xbox first. I gather the necessary components of my normal gaming experience. I sit down, get comfortable, and reach for the controller. My groping is in vain. I cannot find the controller. In a disgruntled sigh, I head up to my room to read one of my books.

I turn on the reading lamp, and its glow resonates in a high pitched buzz in my ears. Again I settle down in a comfortable position. I pick up the nearest book, grateful for its existence, and turn to my bookmarked page. The page is blank. Confusion becomes the only feeling I can register, and this feeling pulsates faster and greater throughout my body as each new page I turn is the same amount of nothing.

The flooding of mixed emotion started to make my skin tingle, and I reach for a piece of paper. Words and images stream through my mind with such force that my eyes can see nothing else. Pen in hand, I record what fills my sight. After half an hour, the images settle down; instead of rushing to get out into the world, they seep tantalizingly over each other as glaciers roam the mountains. As soon as the last character disappears, I can see the paper again. The paper is scratched up, torn, and dented. But, it, too, is terribly vacant of anything other than paper.

I look at my right hand, and the pen is just as it was before: dry.
















I turn to the guitar, hopeful that I can get her to sing along to my frustration and soothe my nerves. Distraught is all that comes to me, though. My guitar is broken.















Late is the night, and only a few friendly souls remain awake. In a few touches I send out cheerful messages to a handful of my friends in my phone. I fall asleep waiting for a response.






I wake up and see that no message sent in the first place.





I pray to God that my morning at school starts off right, and I leave the Foam Cabinet behind without a second look. The bell rings just as I enter my classroom. The teacher starts us on a silent assignment, allowing no other options.

The whole day goes by.

Not a thing sparks my interest.

My spirit is weighed down by dullness.

The world becomes clouded and grey.

Once I get home, the only thing I can think of is the Foam Cabinet. My irritation of the hours before has foamed over into a puddle of sizzling anger. I open the Foam Cabinet.































I see...

























A reflection of myself. The background is the same as before; the only changes are that my expression is more worn, and behind me is less order. I feel enraged at the audacity of my own Foam Cabinet.







This goes on for five weeks before I check the Foam Cabinet again.























The same thing.


























Five more weeks, and I am so tired of the same old nothing that I take with me a paint brush the next time I open the Foam Cabinet. When I open the Foam Cabinet, I am not surprised to see myself staring back at me staring at myself. Staring at me.

I take my brush, and somehow have materialized a bit of paint on its tip.

I circle my face.

My face remains blank with boredom.

A few seconds later, my brain registered the poorly-drawn black circle on the reflection screen.

My brain enjoyed the newness of a lame little circle.

Then the reflection split directly across the upper left and lower right corners of the screen.

Now my black circle has a diagonal slash straight through it.

My face is broken.

But the background...






Becomes more exciting.





I leave the Foam Cabinet open and explore the return of the familiar objects of months ago. The Xbox has a controller, the paper is covered in inspiration, and my books are restored. I rejoice. I look. I look back at the Foam Cabinet. The inside changed! Now the Foam Cabinet displayed a reflection absent of myself. Everything else was there. Everything else was so bright and intriguing and colorful. I was practically transparent. Yet I felt so happy.


For the rest of the day, I enjoyed looking at everything as if it were a new found treasure. I appreciated what each object and friendship was worth. My schoolwork in that class expanded my curiosity. My friends invited me to events that I no longer found boring. I had so much fun. I felt reborn.


And I didn't even notice when everything disappeared again the next week.
I was still content.
It was a great feeling.