I stare at the picture covered walls, suffocating, breathing, scratching under the coarse orange suit. There is no door, no windows, only pictures.
    

I walk from picture to picture, taking in their images. In one a man pushes a little girl on a swing. Her face is so bright and, well, alive. Alive with happiness, alive with laughter. Alive with innocence. The man’s face twists upwards into a wide grin too, and, for whatever reason,    this makes me sad.
I walk to another picture, see the same little girl riding a bike with a furry yellow dog trotting at her side. In another she swims in a lake of blue and black, in still another she sits by a fire reading. I don’t find a single picture frame that isn’t occupied by this girl.
  

In some pictures she looks taller, older, and her hair grows long. As the girl’s appearance changed, so did the pictures. They changed-their essence morphed. There is a small frame in the corner, in it the girl huddles over a lump of gold hair. Compelled to touch it, I reach my hand out and trace the canvas with the tips of my fingers, feel a patch of wet fur. I rip my hand away. I don’t like that picture anyway. I shuffle to a different one.
  

The girl, much older, hair and eyes dark, stands in a room with two adults. Her parents? Her face and theirs contort into a scream. Wondering what would happen, I reach out and touch that one. My fingertips are red when I pull away.
    

Unnerved, I retreat to the middle of the room, lay down, and close my eyes. I want to be out of this horrible picture room, but there is no door. Nothing but the terrible pictures.
    

Hearing a sharp clatter I open my eyes. I suck air sharply into my lungs, all of the pictures are gone. Except one.
    

It is the biggest frame I had seen, and it hung on the wall I was facing, leering at me, staring at me. I stand and approach it, my heart thudding angrily. The same girl, much older now-her hair was long and streaked with gray and white, the corners of her mouth weighed down by wrinkles, stood cloaked in orange in the middle of a room full of pictures. A room with no door.