The Box(6)

Babazuka shoves the cube back into that paper bag carefully and turn back and opens up his laptop. His hand is flying on the keyboard once again. The sunshine moves to the left on the table, but this time, it moves in a smooth way and reached the small gyro on the front board of Babazuka’s bed.
Time went quickly. It’s the afternoon already. I was trapped in this dorm. I can’t remember how long have I been trapped here. This room has no door and an unbreakable window. I don’t have the memory of yesterday, and I don’t know what got me in here, but I have a very clear purpose, write a story, a ten-page story. But how could I write a story without going through enough life experience? Is that possible that the image inside of people’s minds actually exists…