As the sun rises, daybreak frustratingly shines through the blinds, boring a sliver of light directly into my weary eyes like Apollo crying out to announce the day had begun. Soon after, an alarm pleads incessantly for me to rise, but I cut off its wailing with a hard smack and a loud groan. There is a shuffle of sheets as I hop from my bed and snap the blinds open, returning them to their default position. Suddenly sunlight permeates the room and the quarters seem to clear; looking around I see the image of night slowly beginning to fade away as a dark wall of endless stories reverts to a finite shelf. Rows upon rows of entertaining literary and artistic gibberish lie dormant, while upon each row columns of more masterpieces lay, uncomfortably crammed to maximize storage, and perhaps to make retrieval of a forgotten tale more arduous a task. A sigh is drawn from my lips as I try to decide what to read for the day, before being interrupted by the reborn shrieking of my alarm. A quick step along with the prompt removal of batteries silences the infuriating device permanently before I return it to a desk covered in the half-finished projects I don't have the time or will to continue. Even a quick look by an outsider would reveal a plethora of saturated papers with assorted levels of completion and topics, almost as if Daedalus had left his workplace without completing a single masterpiece. The state of the papers varies—an ocean of thoughts, they lay bare in a perpetual desert that covers the front of the desk, while in the rear the older, completed, and now unnecessary ideas lay forgotten during the busy day.

As I maneuver around my room my eyes are glued to the floor, for upon it lies another world. Looking from above,  a haphazard pile of recently discarded garments that begins to arise from  beneath the window, with an excess of ancient board games meant for use on some unknown date spread around them. In between my bed and these discarded items resides a mixture of  crumpled magazines, torn school notes, and a myriad of cables and cords. One could call the room a disheveled mixture of arbitrary items, but for me it's the final safe haven.

Looking towards my desk, I see the place where my yearbook rests, thinking about how throughout the day I roam from class to class, working through the strenuous social politics that define high school. I return from that unforgiving environment and box myself within the world that is my room. There I dive into my bed and look to the high shelves above my escritoire, upon which achievements past and present rest. The trophies that represent the few things I have accomplished are the first level of solace the room offers, giving me evidence of my own worth in the world. Upon the uniquely white wall across from my bed a second tier of comfort exists, for it holds the items close to my heart. A shockingly bookless book case is propped up against the wall, housing a miniature reality of plastic beings on one level, serving as a distraction from the troubles plaguing the mind of a sorrowful teenager. Unique creations formed from the mixture of humans and aliens, weapons and instruments, yellows and blues, serve as a reminder of the endless possibilities that can be reached from anywhere, with anything. Upon the upper level rest thousands of words, hidden within the images of the past, serving as a reminder of the enjoyable parts of life. They line the shelf, depicting events with friends past and present, holding valuable memories that range from acting to sparring, drawing to swimming, group projects to school dances.

Yet even these reminders fail on the peculiar days when the darkness overcomes me, and the oddity that is my room, my safe haven, offers one last true miracle. The chaos that seems to be evident in every particle of the area that is my room is the final lifeline from despair that it has to offer. The clothes and cables that litter the floor are no longer an annoying chore to be put off for some other day. No, instead they have become a welcome distraction, putting my body to work and revealing hidden tokens of amusement that have been misplaced at some arbitrary point of time.  The finished projects that lay untouched and organized on my desk begin piling higher as forgotten undeveloped masterpieces receive the final touches from their creator. The need to escape into material items and creations fuels a revival of work effort and cleaning that leads to the end of the debacle that is my room, returning the former forests of items that spread across an unused desk into a blank canvas and transforming the dustball of a floor into a shining mirror. When all is said and done, the effort of cleaning and the nostalgia discovered in all of the toys and pictures and books leave me too tired to think of the previous issues that tortured my soul. The room has been reset, ready to accrue more mess made up of superfluous papers, discarded clothes, and displaced books.

Daylight fades as darkness sweeps over the world, forcing its way into even the slightest crack. Quickly slamming the blinds back down, I gaze at my room, the mess hidden in the form of slight silhouettes on the ground. As I get into my half-made bed, a scratch at the door beckons me. I open the door and my cat slips in, hopping onto my bed for the night. As my head falls to the pillow, I catch a final glimpse of my sanctuary and give into the call of Hypnos, prepared to awake in the morning to the next day.